


A Chance Engagement

by hollyand



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alternate Universe - Regency, Bethany and Carver Hawke Live, F/M, Fluff and Humor, Pride and Prejudice References, Slow Burn, pride and prejudice au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-30
Updated: 2018-12-29
Packaged: 2019-01-07 05:28:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 41,971
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12226704
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hollyand/pseuds/hollyand
Summary: “It is a truth universally acknowledged, Lady Leandra Amell tried to impress upon her three children, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife. However she hoped this wisdom would be received by her offspring, Lady Leandra was dismayed to find that it had not had the effect she intended.”Regency AU. When Miss Merrill attends the Kirkwall public assembly ball, the last man she expects to engage in a dance is Carver Hawke – a single man who has just come into possession of a large fortune. This chance meeting, however, sets them both on a path they never expected.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lucyrne (theungenue)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/gifts).



> Written for @ungenue on Tumblr, for the [Carver/Merrill blog](http://carvermerrill.tumblr.com) followers giveaway. For her prize, I was requested to write "a prompt that involves them dressing up for some reason. Like going to a ball and actually getting to enjoy it instead of thwarting assassinations or fighting dragons"... and, um, Regency-era balls (and Regency AUs generally) kinda took over my brain, hence this AU fic. 
> 
> And of course, because this is a Regency AU, the language is going to be very similar to Regency English-style language - a little like how Jane Austen used to write, although I've taken a few liberties to keep it still recognisably Dragon Age. 
> 
> Sorry it's so late, and sorry it's currently unfinished. Hope you enjoy it!

It is a truth universally acknowledged, Lady Leandra Amell tried to impress upon her three children, that a single man in possession of a large fortune must be in want of a wife. However she hoped this wisdom would be received by her offspring – her eldest daughter in particular – Lady Leandra was dismayed to find that it had not had the effect she intended.

‘I am not inclined to marry, Mother,’ Marian explained once again with an exasperated sigh. ‘I suspect the twins are your best hope for matrimony. I thank you for your advice, but I am perfectly content as I am.’

‘I am sure that the twins,’ rejoined Leandra, ‘would be relieved to see their elder sister settled. Bethany in particular would find her own chances much improved by your matrimony; for who will consider her while her older sister remains unwed?’

‘Any sensible man should consider courting Bethany regardless of my marital status,’ answered Marian. ‘She is far more beautiful, and far more agreeable, than I. And at the age of four-and-twenty, she is more than eligible, according to you.’

‘And at the age of eight-and-twenty,’ her mother shot back, ‘ _you_ should have taken this seriously years ago. For your sister’s sake, if not your own.’

Marian’s fiery green-blue eyes frosted over at her mother’s words, and Leandra’s heart sank as she realised, once again, that she had lost her daughter. As good-humoured and witty, yet as forceful and stubborn as her father – the late Sir Malcolm Hawke – Marian Hawke may have inherited her looks slightly more from her noble Amell heritage than the Hawke side; yet her personality was so like Leandra’s beloved late husband that it hurt sometimes, and it hurt even more when they clashed.

Leandra had been trying to find her daughter a suitable husband for years to no avail, and all it ever did was drive a wedge between her and her children. She wondered if she should give up after all.

‘Well,’ Marian finally said, her tone icy, ‘I’m sorry to be such a disappointment to you.’

‘Dearest,’ Leandra started placatingly, ‘I’m sorry I brought it up again.’ She hesitated; perhaps the day right after the mourning period for Sir Malcolm had ended was a bad time to press such a sensitive subject. ‘I just worry about you girls, especially since your father’s passing just over a year ago. But I am truly sorry if I caused you pain.’

‘Thank you.’ Marian regarded her mother with a cool stare; Leandra noted, with consternation, that Marian hadn’t explicitly accepted her apology. ‘I would appreciate it if the subject were not brought up again.’

‘All I want to see – all any mother wants to see – is at least one of her children settled well. Preferably married happily, like your father and I were; the love we shared was a rare and beautiful thing, and I wish all three of you could experience such happiness.’

‘Mother, if you truly believe a single man with a large fortune must be in want a wife, perhaps you should persuade Carver to marry. He inherited the baronetcy when Father passed, as well as his wealth; and while we are living here at his mercy, I cannot see that Carver would turn us all out were he to find a wife.’

This was true, Leandra had to concede. Carver’s ultimate loyalty and love lay with their little family unit; they all knew that – there was no question that the Hawkes’ only son would always provide for his mother and sisters. While at the age of nearly five-and-twenty there was no urgency over _his_ marital status, Leandra realised she would probably fare much better trying to arrange a suitable match for him than she had ever done for Marian.

So, it was decided: Leandra would switch her aim from finding a spouse for her first-born child to finding one for the first-born twin, for Carver was older than Bethany by mere minutes. Perhaps in time, Leandra surmised, her daughter might even forgive her interference over the past seven years. And perhaps, in time, her daughter might even find a spouse without Leandra’s interference at all.  
  



	2. Chapter 2

Some decades before, elves had been granted equal status to humans; but as Merrill was well aware, some of the old prejudices still lingered. People’s hearts and minds did not change as easily or swiftly as their laws, and it was this fact that worried her on the day of the Kirkwall public assembly ball.

‘You are the equal of any human, _da’len_ ,’ her aunt Marethari told her soothingly over her shoulder, while Merrill gave her dark hair – arranged in a pretty up-do – a final once-over in the mirror. Soft brown ringlets fell around her pointed ears, framing her heart-shaped face and big green eyes; and Merrill was only pleased that the empire-waist gown she wore, of olive-green silk embroidered with gilt thread, brought out the colour of her eyes so that she did not look quite so pale.

There was a time that a Dalish elf would _never_ have been able to afford such a dress; but her Uncle Sabrae had done well for himself after the Race Relations Act passed into law, eventually accumulating enough through trade to purchase land around Sundermount – and with it, a small estate. Thus, he had been one of the first elves to join the landed gentry; and even as one of the _elvhen_ , his wealth and his new status as a gentleman in society had made life easier for his wife and two sons.

Marethari Sabrae had been younger than her now-deceased husband, but even though her hair had greyed, she retained the majestic aura and serene pride of one revered for her status as the matriarch of the Sabrae household. As Merrill’s guardian and keeper, however, Merrill often felt intimidated by her, and felt she could never quite do anything right.

‘You used to frighten me with so many stories growing up,’ Merrill said in the mirror, with a small smile. ‘I do hope the _shemlen_ do not cause us inconvenience.’ She turned to face her aunt, and tried to force a playfulness in her voice. ‘ _Elgar’nan_ – I don’t suppose they care that this is meant to mark my coming-out, but I would rather that this dress was not purchased in vain!’

‘I am given to understand,’ said a smartly-dressed Tamlen as he sidled up to Merrill, with his wife Mahariel in tow, ‘that we will not be the only members of the People there. Those _shemlen_ will just need to understand we have as much right to be there as they do. All should be well, my young cousin.’ He nodded his handsome blond head at his mother. ‘Fenarel says he is ready, and our carriage is waiting. Shall we go?’

Merrill followed them into the horse-drawn carriage, and could only be grateful that it was built for human proportions so they could squeeze into it as a party of five rather than a party of four. Even though both Sabrae men were very well-built for elven men, like the hunters of old, there was still a comfortable amount of space on their side of the carriage that they seemed to appreciate. The carriage was being driven by an elven worker, likely from the alienage; and Merrill tried to ignore the dirty look he gave her in all her finery as he shut the carriage door behind them.

‘You do look lovely, Merrill,’ Mahariel eventually said to break the silence, and Merrill smiled gratefully at the woman seated next to her.

‘Indeed,’ Marethari beamed, from the other side of Mahariel. ‘Your parents would be so proud if they could see their daughter now! I always had faith that someday you would be ready to be presented, and here you are.’

‘Yes,’ agreed Merrill, forcing a smile she didn’t feel. ‘Thank you, again, for taking me in when my parents… passed away. And all those years of you teaching me the right way to behave… I hope they’ve paid off. I’m so nervous about tonight…’

Across the carriage Tamlen murmured something, while next to him Fenarel stared out of the window, quietly humming to himself. Merrill knew she shouldn’t be ungrateful, but somehow she couldn’t help feeling condescended to by her aunt, and scolded herself for it. With a week to go till she turned one-and-twenty, Merrill had begun to despair that she would _ever_ be ready, in her aunt’s eyes, for her coming-out – and Marethari, who adopted the orphaned Merrill and took her on personally as her pupil, studiously kept her away from all socialising until she felt Merrill had _properly learned_ her duties.

But even now she was deemed ready in Marethari’s eyes – at long last – the Sabraes had decided that Merrill would be better coming out at a public ball, rather than a private ball held in her honour at greater expense to themselves. The dress and gloves she was wearing were considered an appropriate compromise.

Finally, Merrill thought, she could experience for herself all the wonderful parties and people her older cousins talked so enthusiastically about. Finally, she was allowed to meet people outside the Sundermount Estate – maybe even make friends of her own at last, or meet someone that could get her out of Sundermount altogether.

The carriage pulled up at the halls, and Merrill stepped out of the carriage carefully, timidly, even with Tamlen helping to hand the ladies out of the carriage. Humans had so many rules of etiquette, especially where women’s behaviour was concerned – and even though this was a public assembly that anyone could attend, the last thing Merrill wanted to do was give them cause to notice her for more reasons than her pointed ears already gave her.

She would be _so_ glad when this ball was over. Conforming to stuffy _shemlen_ rules was not how she hoped to spend her coming out to society; but if this was the only way she could meet a nice elven boy of similar social standing, then, Merrill supposed, she could manage it just for one evening.   
  



	3. Chapter 3

Carver was annoyed. Mother’s sudden switch from finding Marian a husband to finding _him_ a wife had been disconcerting; but now that he would be thrust into every ball in town to find a suitable wife, it was going to be _exhausting_. Even more so when many of them only seemed to be interested in his family’s money and status, rather than in Carver for himself. And Carver, who had always wanted to join the army and make his own way – and resented that he was the only son, or he _would_ have been a soldier – had never cared much for titles.

‘Why me?’ he’d argued peevishly, when Leandra handed him his ticket for the Kirkwall public assembly ball. ‘Why don’t you work on Bethany to find a husband?’

‘Bethany doesn’t need reminding of her duties,’ Leandra had replied.

‘You mean Marian and I are more headstrong, and you don’t like it.’

‘Carver, please!’ Leandra had scolded him. ‘Must you always be so crass and boorish? And you can wipe that surly expression off your face. You have more time than your sisters to find a spouse, certainly; but at some point you will look to produce an heir. And I daresay it won’t hurt for you to engage in high society more.’

The public assembly rooms in Hightown were certainly lavish enough for the occasion. Brightly sparkling chandeliers graced the lofty ceilings; while the tall windows were draped in heavy, expensive curtains, deep pink with a silken sheen and busy gold embroidery. The drapery pattern matched the elaborate cornice that lined the dark green marble pillars and the high ceiling above their heads.

The sweet scent of white roses adorning the halls, and the string quartet playing soothing music as the guests spilled in, completed this feat of elegance; yet Carver could not appreciate his fine surroundings as much as the Hawke ladies might. He hadn’t wanted to be here at all, and his sour mood made it hard to care about anything.

‘I wonder if Prince Sebastian will be here tonight,’ Leandra murmured, winking at her younger daughter. ‘He seemed very interested in you, Bethany dear, before we went into mourning; I hear he is still unattached.’

Bethany coloured, but laughed lightly. ‘Well. We shall see, Mother. I am determined to have a good time regardless of who is here, and I’m sure I shall.’

‘You look beautiful, Bethany,’ Marian grinned, and Bethany blushed even deeper. ‘Any man should consider himself lucky to dance with you, and he would be a fool otherwise.’

Carver privately agreed, but couldn’t feel as positive about his own prospects for the evening. He’d just seen those awful de Launcet girls swan past in their muslin gowns and unnecessarily large fans, giggling bitchily to themselves – probably about how superior they were to most of the company here.

He exhaled a long sigh. Mother’s insistence that Carver had to dance with every lady in attendance tonight was _most_ vexing.

‘Is that–’ Bethany leant in to whisper to the rest of the Hawkes, ‘is that an elven family over there? They do not look familiar.’

Leandra turned her head to observe them. ‘Yes, I believe that is the Sabrae family. I have heard of them; they own the Sundermount Estate outside Kirkwall.’ She paused, and to Carver it felt disapproving. ‘One of the first elves to join the landed gentry, I hear.’

‘I think we should introduce ourselves,’ Marian declared, a sympathetic look on her face. ‘They appear slightly unsure whether they should be here – or the young lady in green does, anyway. I think it would be good to make them feel welcome, especially as they are one of the only elves here.’

Before Leandra could object, her daughter had gone to fetch the Master of Ceremonies to perform the introductions. By the time Marian returned, however, the two blond elven men – and one of the women, although not the nervous girl in the green dress – had wandered off. The Master was a short, cocky, beardless dwarf by the name of Varric Tethras, the man who usually knew everyone worth knowing and everything about them; and Carver was sure he was only here in his capacity as a spy.

‘Allow me to introduce Lady Leandra Hawke and her three children,’ Varric drawled easily as he sidled up to the surprised grey-haired elven woman, with the Hawkes in tow. ‘Lady Hawke, may I present Mrs Sabrae.’ He turned back to the curtseying elves. ‘The eldest Miss Hawke has expressed a wish to become acquainted with your family.’

Leandra shot a brief glare at Marian, but was as courteous as the daughter of an earl was expected to be. ‘Allow me to present my children, Mrs Sabrae,’ she said. ‘My eldest is Marian–’ and here Marian nodded and flashed her most friendly smile, ‘and my youngest two – the twins – are Bethany and Sir Carver, who recently inherited my late husband’s title.’

Carver bristled at being addressed as ‘Sir Carver’, but said nothing, while Bethany smiled as charmingly as her sister.

‘Pleased to meet you, Ma'am,’ Mrs Sabrae replied, stiffly. ‘I would introduce my own children, but they seem to have left my side. My eldest son Tamlen and his wife, Mahariel, are over there–’ and Mrs Sabrae indicated a scowling blond elven man, muttering darkly to his chestnut-haired wife about the number of ‘shemlen’ present, whatever that meant, ‘–and my youngest son, Fenarel, has gone I know not where…’

‘I think Fenarel went to get himself a drink,’ piped up the slight, dark-haired girl next to her; and Carver, arrested by the surprise of the girl’s strong Dalish accent, was suddenly struck with how pretty her large, round green eyes were.

‘Merrill…’ Mrs Sabrae gave her a reproachful look, and the girl went scarlet. ‘How many times have I told you…’

‘I’m _so_ sorry,’ the girl whispered as she bowed her head – inaudibly to the rest of the party, but Carver caught it all the same. ‘I always say the stupidest things…’

‘I’ll just go and check how the band are preparing for the first dance,’ Varric interrupted, as if to spare Merrill’s further blushes. He beamed widely at them all, before bowing and leaving.

Carver gazed at Merrill, feeling a little sorry for her. The poor girl, like him, was being thrust into all this nonsense to find a suitable spouse; and, like him, she looked like she really didn’t want to be here.

‘Your daughter, I take it, Madam?’ Carver asked at last.

‘Oh no, Sir,’ Mrs Sabrae answered. ‘Merrill – Miss Alerion – is my niece, although we have adopted her into our little clan. This ball marks her coming-out.’

‘Lovely to meet you all,’ Leandra cut in, with a finality in her voice that indicated the conversation was at an end. ‘I think the dancing is about to start, so…’ she drifted towards the ballroom, ‘we should leave you to enjoy the ball…’

Out of the corner of Carver’s eye, he could see Dulci de Launcet approach, with her giggling daughters Babette and Fifi; both girls were looking expectantly at him in a way that made him panic.

‘Actually, I was going to ask Miss Alerion if she wanted to dance with me,’ Carver blurted, far more loudly than he intended, making everyone halt in their tracks in surprise – not least himself.

 _Shit_. Why did he always have to act on impulse? Why couldn’t he have slunk graciously away from the de Launcets, like Mother had been trying to do the whole time they were talking to the Sabraes?

But if Carver was astounded by his own actions, it was nothing compared to how stunned Merrill looked after she answered ‘yes’.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I should probably mention that one of the things that inspired me to write a Regency AU - among many other things, not least my giftee's prompt - was a (currently unfinished) Regency AU F!Hawke/Fenris longfic called "[A Lady And A Rogue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/9198254/chapters/20868656)" by Laurpas. 
> 
> Please note that while I called her Lady Leandra Amell / Lady Amell in Chapter 1, her proper formal title in Regency England would actually have been Lady Leandra Hawke / Lady Hawke. Being part of the nobility and also the daughter of an Earl (i.e. nobility and a peer) would mean that she can be addressed as Lady Leandra, as well as Lady Hawke (the latter being her proper address as the wife of a baronet surnamed Hawke), and she would be introduced first to Marethari Sabrae, who is of a lower social rank (as part of the landed gentry without a title). 
> 
> I've given Merrill the surname of "Alerion" rather than "Sabrae" because according to her DA2 codex, Merrill was born into Clan Alerion before she showed magical talent at age 4 and was given away to Clan Sabrae. Dalish elves tend to take the surnames of the clan they were born into (or, they take the surnames that belong to that clan, which may not necessarily match the clan's name - but I digress). 
> 
> Sir Carver is obviously a play on DA2's "Ser Carver", and was part of the reason I made Malcolm Hawke a baronet (minor nobility and landed gentry, but one with a hereditary title unlike other members of the landed gentry). I suspect that, as a man, Carver should be the one who's supposed to introduce himself and his family to the the Sabraes (even though his mother, as the daughter of a noble peer, might *technically* be ranked above him?) but I thought it would fit his surly and sullen character if he didn't :-D 
> 
> Yup, British aristocratic ranks and their addresses are confusing - and even as a Brit I had to check and re-check that I was getting this stuff right! :-D . The modern class system regarding the British upper classes works slightly differently nowadays, especially as not all of the upper classes are aristocracy anymore, and some aristocratic ranks have virtually died out.


	4. Chapter 4

‘ _Well_ ,’ Tamlen almost spat in distaste, as they walked into the public assembly rooms in Hightown. ‘It appears that there has been some _mistake_.’

‘Really?’ Merrill chirped as she drew level with him and Mahariel, who was on his other arm. ‘What has happened?’

Tamlen exchanged a look with his chestnut-haired wife, before turning back to the gathering with such a fierce glare on his face that Merrill almost felt afraid for the humans congregated in front of them. ‘Let us hope, for all our sakes, that we are not the _only_ elves attending as guests tonight,’ he hissed, and Merrill felt the dismay flow through her as surely as the white rose scent that greeted them.

Tamlen was right. Most of the elves that _were_ present appeared to be servants, despite their supposedly equal status in society now. Merrill’s heart sank at the number of them whirling around the room in their uniforms, silver platters and glasses of wine in hand, wearing fixed and obsequious smiles towards the humans present. It was a cruel reminder that society’s attitudes were always much slower to change than they should be; and Merrill’s new aim now was to simply get through the night, and hope that nothing of note happened.

Even more disappointingly for Merrill, the only other elven family in attendance was one in which the menfolk were all very obviously married.

The public assembly rooms were grand, much grander than they appeared from the outside, and Merrill had never seen anything like it. She tried not to gape at her surroundings, but they were so finely furnished she couldn’t help but stare all around her at every resplendent detail on display. Human elegance differed from elven elegance, the latter being more influenced by nature and the natural world than the fussy materialism of the former; but as a lover of culture and history in all its forms, Merrill was fascinated.

Either way, it was all a far cry from the harsh alienage she’d grown up in. Even if she’d lived in squalor, in the part of the city where crime was high and the water wouldn’t stop moving even after boiling it, Merrill hadn’t known that a better type of life could possibly be available to elves – although given how stern a guardian (or keeper, as elves referred to it) Marethari had been after she’d taken Merrill in as a skinny, underfed urchin, sometimes, in her more lonely moments, Merrill wondered if the life she’d led after her parents had died had _really_ been ‘better’.

Marethari had been her mother’s sister, and even if she’d adopted Merrill into the family, she’d had zero contact with Merrill or her parents before that, and Merrill rather got the impression that Marethari had disapproved of the marriage her mother had made – and through that, disapproved of Merrill herself. Or some of the choices Merrill had made, anyway.

And now, a chance engagement to dance with _a human_ had happened.

 _Well_ , Merrill thought defiantly, cheeks burning as she avoided Marethari’s intent stare. What else could she have done when the dark-haired human family had approached to talk to them, for reasons the Creators themselves only knew? Even Marethari had been calmly polite in the face of Lady Leandra’s cold civility; it was never a good move for an elf of any status to upset human nobility – especially those as well-known and notable as the Hawkes.

If Merrill had been puzzled why the elder Miss Hawke wanted to know them better, it was _nothing_ compared to her automatic reaction to Miss Hawke’s brother just now. She’d been so surprised and nervous that she accidentally answered ‘yes’ to a dance with the tall, surly-looking human man, before she’d even been able to think about what she’d done.

‘Oh, _Merrill_ ,’ sighed Marethari, as the Hawke family took their leave; Sir Carver looked just as shocked about asking Merrill to dance as she felt after she realised she’d accepted.

‘I’m _so_ sorry!’ Merrill whispered. ‘I don’t know why I said “yes”, I didn’t mean to. I wasn’t expecting him to ask me!’

Marethari regarded her niece with pity. ‘I suppose there can be no harm done in one dance,’ she eventually conceded. ‘Perhaps he may even be pleasant company. And the gathering does rather seem to more lacking in elven partners than we were led to expect; this way you will have had at least one dance at your coming-out ball.’

Merrill nodded in agreement. Dancing with one of the more prominent human nobles wasn’t how Merrill had _wanted_ to begin the evening – she was hoping for a start that would draw less attention to herself – but there was no backing out now. Sir Carver was marching over to claim her hand, and Merrill graciously allowed him to lead her to the dance.

Now that she was no longer fretting and fidgeting next to Marethari, Merrill was able to get a good look at her dancing companion. Clad in a white shirt and cravat under a navy-blue tailcoat, Sir Carver was clearly a strong and strapping figure of a man, his well-fitting garments showing off his broad muscularity; and Merrill was sure he utterly dwarfed her slender frame. His hands were large, like the rest of him; yet he held Merrill’s dainty, slender hand in his own with such gentleness that Merrill started to relax at the idea of being partnered with this hulking, terrifying human for the first dance of the evening.

Sir Carver’s eyes were very blue; he stared at her with a sullen expression on his face as the band began to play, and Merrill wasn’t sure if it was due to her or something else entirely. He bowed deeply to her on the opening notes of the music, and she politely curtseyed in return, all while thinking he would be handsome if he wasn’t so haughty and standoffish.

He took her hand in his again and they began to move in unison, in time to the music, her well-practised moves complementing his perfectly, his eyes never leaving her face. Merrill had always thought she was fairly tall for an elven woman – Marethari was forever telling her off about her bad posture, reproaching her that Merrill had a fine enough figure if only she would _just stand up straight_ – but the way Carver was looking down at her as they circled around each other, linked only by their hands, caused her to stare up at him defiantly, back perfectly straight and thrusting her chest out in self-pride. She would _not_ let this human intimidate her, if that was what he was trying to do.

But that didn’t seem to be what Sir Carver was trying to do at all. She expected that he would be bored by her presence, or disdainful, or even impatient for the dance to end – but instead the sulky expression was fading from his face, and he was starting to regard her with a sort of taciturn curiosity that Merrill didn’t know what to make of.

Sir Carver Hawke did not seem to be the sort of man who talked while dancing, given that he managed to remain completely silent for almost the entire time. He continued to gaze steadily at her, and Merrill found it most unnerving.

But not half as unnerving as the whispers that went round the room. A surprised murmur had gone up as Sir Carver had led her to the dance; judging by how furiously some of the ladies fanned themselves, no doubt they were scandalised that one of Hightown’s most eligible batchelors had chosen his first dance to be with an _elf_.

If only the whispers had stopped once she began dancing!

‘Why is that elf dancing with Sir Carver?’

‘Surely Sir Carver can do better. What is he _thinking_?’

‘A man with ten thousand pounds a year cannot possibly be interested in an elf, even one from Sundermount. This must be mere politeness.’  

‘This must be all a mischievous joke on somebody’s part. Or perhaps Miss Alerion has bewitched him with some sort of black magic into passing his first dance with her. Isn’t that what these elves _do_ to advance themselves nowadays?’

Merrill’s ears burned, and it took all her restraint not to break off the dance and tell her spectators exactly what she thought of their rudeness. A pair of spiteful giggles rang out near her as the dance progressed, and as she looped around Sir Carver again – who seemed to have fixed his gaze firmly on her – Merrill could see the two giggling women who’d approached the Hawkes earlier when Sir Carver had blurted out that he was about to ask Merrill to dance. The look they directed at her had a mix of envy and scorn; and Merrill idly wondered if Sir Carver had asked her to dance with him to get away from them.

The thought amused her somewhat, and she must have smiled involuntarily because the last of Sir Carver’s reserve seemed to vanish, and he finally broke his silence.

‘So,’ he began, trying to sound casual, as the music continued to play around them, ‘you’re not like a lot of other girls.’

‘No,’ replied Merrill cheerfully, ‘I’m an elf.’

Sir Carver looked stunned. ‘Right,’ he eventually stammered. ‘All right, then…’

He trailed off into an awkward silence, and Merrill was completely confused. What was all that about? Was that his attempt to talk to her? Was this normal human conversation? It sounded very silly to Merrill. What else had she been expected to say?

‘Oh,’ she wondered to herself, as they continued to dance around each other, ‘did I miss something dirty?’

To her horror, she realised she’d spoken aloud when Sir Carver went bright red.

‘What? No!’ he spluttered, looking as horrified as she was. ‘It – it wasn’t dirty, it wasn’t… anything.’

 _Oh, Merrill_ , she chided herself, _why do you always say the stupidest things?! Not only are you_ not _acting like the well-bred lady Marethari taught you to be; not only have you completely broken etiquette; but you’ve now gone and completely embarrassed Lord Grumpy-face_.

Well. It was too late to save the situation, Merrill thought, so… in for a penny, in for a pound. At least he’d never dance with her again; no doubt he’d report her scandalous behaviour and words to everyone present, and she’d never have to worry about being invited to one of these stuffy _shemlen_ gatherings ever again. Marethari would be very cross with her for a while, but maybe next time Merrill could be taken to a ball that actually had more eligible elven men present. It had to be a win, surely? _Think positively, Merrill!_

‘Oh! Right,’ Merrill continued, smiling at him pleasantly as if this was a totally normal and appropriate topic for an unmarried woman to discuss with a man she’d only just met. ‘Because I miss a lot of dirty things; and sometimes,’ she threw him a cheeky smile, revelling in his shock, ‘I wouldn’t mind hearing them.’

He raised an eyebrow. ‘Would you, now?’

Merrill gave him an arch look, and continued the dance. Sir Carver said no more, but gazed at her more thoughtfully now; and Merrill couldn’t help wondering if he was judging her and finding her just as wanting as the rest of the room seemed to – more so, for the little conversation they’d actually _had_ had been entirely inappropriate on her part, and he had been at a loss as to how to react.

The music ended, and they performed their bows and curtseys; and as Sir Carver took her by the hand and led her away from the dance as per decorum, Merrill tried not to reflect miserably on how much worse her first-ever dance at her first-ever ball could have gone.


	5. Chapter 5

Miss Bethany Hawke had come out to society comparatively late, due to her older sister’s disinclination to marry. At almost five-and-twenty, however, she was still very much admired for her beauty, sweet nature and quiet intelligence, and both her siblings were rather protective over her for it.

A brief flirtation with the Duke of Starkhaven – better known as Prince Sebastian Vael – had taken place last year; but to Lady Leandra’s disappointment, nothing had come of it in the end. It wasn’t clear (as Bethany had been unwilling to discuss the subject) whether their courtship had been put on hold for the time being, or whether it had never actually seriously begun in the first place. Being ‘neither the heir nor the spare’, as Prince Sebastian himself had put it, his family had intended him for the Chantry; but some great calamity had allegedly ensued which saw him thrust right in line for the throne; and he had promptly left Kirkwall to ‘take care of business’ rather than take his vows.

Bethany had borne the episode with all the sanguine temperament and serenity that no other disappointed gentlewoman could possibly be expected to manage; and while Lady Leandra had been most disconcerted – Lord Aristide Amell, had he lived, would have been _delighted_ for his granddaughter to have married royalty! – Bethany remained sunnily optimistic that the right opportunity would come along when the Maker willed it, whether that suitor was Prince Sebastian or someone else. With a fortune as abundant as their good looks, it was generally agreed that the Hawke girls would surely find an eligible match with anyone they wished.

Yet in spite of Bethany’s beauty, having a handsome older sister who remained stubbornly unwed had meant that while Bethany was never short of admirers – as at this ball – many a young man had been discouraged, by the social mores of the day, from pursuing her as a serious marriage object before the elder Miss Hawke was married. Unlike her mother, however, Bethany did not hold her sister’s reluctance against her. Matrimony and a family might have been Bethany’s own dearest wish, but privately she felt it was unfair to expect such a thing of all women if, like her sister, they did not want such a life.

A clamour for her hand had arisen, and Bethany smilingly accepted all the young men who’d asked her to dance; and during the first break she had, she made sure to seek out her twin, who was sourly returning from his own dancing engagement with Flora Harriman.

‘How have your dances been?’ Bethany asked her brother. ‘Both of us have been engaged all evening; I never even got the opportunity to ask you how your first dance went.’

Carver seemed at a loss as to how to respond, before eventually mumbling: ‘Pleasant enough, I suppose.’

‘Well,’ Bethany said cheerily, ‘that’s good to hear. It got you away from both Babette and Fifi de Launcet, at least. Their mother was very keen that you should dance your first dance with one of her daughters; I daresay you’ve scandalised the entire family by dancing your first with Miss Alerion.’

‘I think I scandalised the entire _room_ by dancing my first with Miss Alerion. Mother too, I expect. Serves her right for insisting I dance with every young lady here tonight. I was only following her orders.’

Bethany laughed. ‘Well, if it makes you feel any better, our sister is risking Mother’s wrath enough. She has been thoroughly engrossed in conversation with Captain Isabela all evening, and expertly avoided any applications to dance from everyone.’

‘Captain Isabela is her best friend. They have not seen each other for a while; it is only natural that they should want to catch up.’

‘True enough. But I think Mother would rather that she danced. Sister introduced Miss Alerion to Captain Isabela, by the way; both of them seem most determined to make her acquaintance, for some reason.’

Carver grunted. ‘I wonder why.’

‘Do you not think Miss Alerion is worthy of our sister’s desire to know her better?’

‘Miss Alerion’s conversation was very…’ Carver seemed at a loss as to how to answer, fumbling for the right word, ‘…unexpected.’

‘Unexpected? How so?’

Carver bowed his head, as if his footwear suddenly interested him, but Bethany arched an eyebrow. Clearly her twin was rather flustered by whatever had passed between himself and Miss Merrill; and even if no-one else noticed anything unusual about Carver’s attitude, Bethany’s curiosity was certainly piqued.

‘No one has asked Miss Alerion to dance ever since you did,’ Bethany observed, as their mother joined her side, ‘and if it weren’t for Marian and Isabela taking pity on her, I rather got the impression that the rest of the gathering had shunned her.’

‘That’s unfortunate.’

‘Carver,’ Leandra interrupted, ‘may I have a word?’

Carver looked up, then, and Bethany saw that whatever expression _had_ been on his face was replaced by his usual surly countenance. ‘I was only doing what you asked,’ he pre-empted her. ‘You asked me to dance with every young lady here, so I did.’

Leandra looked pointedly at him. ‘Miss Alerion is an elf.’

‘So?’

‘If you had to dance with her, you could at least have stood up with her during a less _obvious_ part of the evening, dear. I have been fending off questions from almost everyone of consequence here tonight. The Reinhardts told me their second daughter was _most_ disheartened.’

‘I daresay she’ll get over it,’ Carver replied, and Bethany tried to hide a smile at her brother’s curt rudeness, even if it _was_ to their mother.

Lady Leandra glared. ‘I hope you are not thinking of dancing a second dance with her, Carver. I do not want to answer yet more awkward questions as to why my son, the most eligible batchelor in Kirkwall, has ignored everyone’s daughters to declare a preference for an elven girl that no one else wants to dance with.’

Carver rolled his eyes. ‘Don’t worry, Mother,’ he reassured her, ‘I don’t intend to stand up with any woman more than once – and certainly _not_ Miss Alerion. She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt _me_ ; and I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men.’

 _Are you ever_ , Bethany had wanted to tease him; but she was stopped from her light-hearted retort at the sight of Merrill herself, now standing nearby – and looking like she might have overheard him.  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some notes on the chapter, as I've had a few questions about it! 
> 
> 1) The quote at the end where Carver says “She is tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt me; and I am in no humour to give consequence to young ladies who are slighted by other men” has been shamelessly stolen from the _Pride & Prejudice_ novel itself. It’s what Elizabeth Bennet overhears Mr Darcy saying about her when they meet for the first time at a public assembly ball. 
> 
> Admittedly canon!Carver would word it differently, as his way of speaking in DA2 isn't much like Regency-era speech - but this is a crossover/AU, so I've had to take some liberties ;-) It's not the only quote I've taken from the book (as you can already see from the opening line of this fic), and it won't be the last :-D 
> 
> 2) Regency England had all sorts of strict rules around how men and women should behave around each other, and not observing these rules could lead to social disgrace, ostracisation and even ruin (especially for women, unfortunately). One of those rules was around dancing: men and women were not allowed to dance more than two sets of dances with each other. 
> 
> However, by dancing with a lady more than once, the gentleman would be signifying to the rest of the room that he preferred her above all other women in the room - and would either be intending to court her, or already courting her (with a view to getting engaged and married etc). 
> 
> This is why the socially anxious Lady Leandra is in such a panic about Carver dancing with Merrill again - he's already created curiosity and gossip among half the snobby nobles in the room by standing up with this unknown elven girl for his first dance instead of THEIR precious daughters, and Lady Leandra has had to reassure them that it's just one dance and nothing to worry about... but if he stood up to dance with her again? Then that would indicate, very publicly, that he's interested in Merrill - and Leandra would have a lot of disappointed nobles' daughters to deal with XD


	6. Chapter 6

Merrill went red with indignation. As if she would dance again with Sir Carver! Especially after he’d been such an unenthusiastic partner! The nerve of some of these _shemlen_ – Tamlen was right when he said they were not to be trusted. ‘Not handsome enough to tempt him’ indeed! How arrogant, how rude of him to tell his mother so! Even if it sounded as if Lady Leandra had prompted her son to do so, from her own (likely) prejudice against elves! What abominable _pride_ they must have to say a thing like that, and so freely in public where they could easily be overheard!

But Merrill, fortunately, had her own pride; and it was not to be so easily injured by human men like Sir Carver, no matter how important, handsome or wealthy his fawning admirers declared him to be. It had been a shame, she reflected; she’d got on so well with the Miss Hawkes, and Miss Marian had been especially charming and welcoming.

Perhaps, Merrill thought as she marched away, head held high, she would not interact much with him after tonight. It’s not as if he had seemed to be doing much more than trying to intimidate her with his hulking, looming presence anyway, despite his superior dancing skills – and by the Creators, Merrill almost let him. She was determined that she should _never_ be intimidated by him, ever.

‘Everything well, cousin?’ Mahariel asked her, in a tone of concern.

‘Oh! fine,’ Merrill said, forcing a smile; but she could never lie to Mahariel so easily: she was closer to Mahariel than the family the latter had married into. It was Tamlen’s reaction to her dance with Sir Carver that Merrill was more afraid of, but as Marethari had said, it would not benefit any of them to upset the human nobles tonight.

‘Do not trouble yourself,’ Mahariel reassured her as Merrill related what she’d overheard. ‘He did not look in a mood to dance with anyone more than once, and even then he seemed pained to do so. I overheard other ladies gossiping that the Hawkes are back in society after mourning their father for a year, and that he is looking for a wife; but I rather get the impression it is the dearest wish of his mother’s, rather than his own.’

The conversation continued on the way home in the carriage, despite the reaction from Tamlen that Merrill had been dreading all evening: ‘You seemed to be getting on a little _too_ well with the _shemlen_ at the ball, cousin Merrill,’ he’d snarled, eyes flashing and an accusatory tone to his voice; but fortunately his wife and mother came to Merrill’s defence, and related the rudeness of Sir Carver.

‘Another time, I would not dance with him if I were you,’ Marethari said to Merrill, while Mahariel nodded in agreement.

Merrill laughed. ‘I believe, Keeper, that I may safely promise you _never_ to dance with Sir Carver.’

The carriage rumbled on; an inebriated Fenarel slept and Marethari and Mahariel traded gossip about the evening, while Merrill listened. She’d wanted to talk more, but had a feeling that even Mahariel wouldn’t want to listen to Merrill’s new acquaintance with the Miss Hawkes; or even the elder Miss Hawke’s friend, the dashing Captain Isabela, whom she’d eagerly introduced.

Merrill had been _fascinated_ by Captain Isabela. Captain Isabela was bronzed and brilliant, with rich dark hair and a large buxom bust so much on display it almost made Merrill’s eyes pop. Rumour had it that she was a rogue and a thief and a pirate; but the one thing that was clear was that she had a naval career – unheard of for a woman, even a ‘fast’ one. Isabela defied and scandalised high society with her antics, but earned their grudging respect anyway; and her firm friendship with Miss Marian Hawke ensured her invitation to the very best parties (or the very worst, depending on how you looked at it) that Kirkwall could offer.

‘Why should it?’ Isabela had laughed breezily when an astonished Merrill had asked if the opinions of other people bothered her. ‘They don’t know me. _I_ know me.’

In short, Captain Isabela was a woman who did what she pleased, and cared not a jot for society’s rules and constraints. With her smooth, confident voice, sparkling amber eyes and cocky swagger, Isabela had started to make Merrill wonder if it was possible to choose her own path in life, rather than dutifully follow the path the Sabrae clan expected of her.

As the Sabraes’ carriage travelled on towards the Sundermount, the Hawkes themselves arrived back at their Hightown home, and walked through the front doors of their mansion to a surprise visitor.

‘Uncle Gamlen!’ Bethany exclaimed, as the servants bustled around them, removing their coats and pelisses. ‘What are you doing here at this late hour?’

The man in question merely smirked, cigar in one hand and glass of port in the other. ‘Night at the gentleman’s club finished earlier than expected,’ he explained, ‘so I thought I’d call on you all for some amusement.’

Lord Gamlen Amell was Lady Leandra’s younger brother, and had inherited the earldom when Lord Aristide Amell had passed away; Lady Bethann had followed shortly after, and with the death of both his parents Gamlen was able to inherit all the Amell fortune and noble title free of any complications. There had only been one snag: the Amells, for all their impressive titles and influence, had hit upon a series of misfortunes so expensive that the only wealth left to Gamlen was the privilege of being an earl and a lord.

With no money to settle on either Gamlen or Leandra, it fell to both of them to marry prudently to restore at least some of the lustre that being of noble pedigree was supposed to confer. However, Lord Aristide had been sorely disappointed; his favoured, beautiful daughter Leandra was arranged to be betrothed to Comte Guillaume de Launcet, a rich nobleman from Orlais of similar social standing, and she had defied him so completely on that head that it was sometimes said that the shock of it had killed him. Meanwhile, Gamlen did not marry, but possessed an unfortunate gaming habit that whittled away the last of the Amell wealth; and it was from yet another of these sessions down at his spurious ‘gentleman’s club’ that he had returned.

Leandra sighed at her brother; Bodahn, the dwarven servant who’d greeted them at the door, melted away into the shadows, realising that this would probably be a conversation he was not meant to overhear. ‘How much do you owe this time?’ she queried tiredly, as Gamlen followed them all into the large drawing room. ‘My children cannot keep settling your gaming debts forever.’

Gamlen waved his cigar airily. ‘Oh, never mind _that_. Wasn’t such a bad night as it usually is; I even won some for a change. How was the ball?’

‘Well, Bethany danced every dance, and was an absolute delight,’ Leandra began proudly, before looking wistful. ‘Carver too, although I wish he looked less dour and sullen about it. And Marian didn’t stand up with any of the young men at all.’

‘Well,’ shrugged Gamlen, ‘she’s rich enough to withstand being left “on the shelf”, I daresay. What was it – a fortune of twenty thousand pounds that both girls inherited from their late father, wasn’t it?’

‘Gamlen!’ Leandra looked horrified. ‘To ask such a thing so brazenly! in front of us!’

‘I am not paying your debts, if that’s what you’re alluding to, Uncle,’ smirked Marian, causing an outraged Carver to shut his mouth, having been about to defend his sisters.

‘I wasn’t about to ask you to,’ Gamlen snapped back; while Bethany, silently worried that an argument might threaten her peace, looked suddenly very interested in the ornate curtains that adorned the drawing-room windows.

‘Of course you weren’t,’ agreed Marian. ‘Not this time, at least.’

‘Regardless,’ Leandra cut in, eager to get back to what she’d been saying. ‘I was most disappointed in your conduct tonight, Marian. Carver too.’

‘Me?’ Carver started loudly. ‘What did _I_ do?’

‘Mother, the only person who asked me tonight was that foul Emile de Launcet,’ Marian carried on, as if her brother hadn’t interjected at all. ‘I am not dancing with _him_ if he were the last man in Kirkwall.’

‘There would have been more men than that, Marian dear. You and that Isabela woman somehow skilfully avoided them all – they didn’t even get close enough to asking you.’

‘Well, how was that my fault?’ Marian answered hotly. ‘Do you know what the de Launcet boy said to me? He actually began by asking me “are you a mage? Because you just magicked my breath away!” I needed a bath after hearing that!’

Even Leandra could think of no defence of such strange and appalling manners, as all three of her children grimaced while Gamlen laughed uproariously, completely undeterred by the glares Marian and Carver shot him.

‘You might still have obliged him, dear,’ Leandra tried to say, but Marian snorted in a most unladylike manner.

‘Mother, I know you would like us not to upset the de Launcets, after you broke off your betrothal to the Comte and married Father all those years ago; but I daresay that the Comte de Launcet has got over it tolerably well. You – and we – owe the family no further deference.’

Leandra blushed, looking furious. ‘That was – that was not what at all what I meant,’ she stammered, in a weak attempt to reproach her daughter; while Gamlen laughed again.

‘She’s right,’ he said. ‘Stop feeling so guilty about it, old girl. If the de Launcets haven’t forgiven you after all these years, that’s their problem, not yours. I daresay that social climbing, snobby Dulci de Launcet has forgiven you for running off with a Hawke. Especially given she benefited from her own marriage to the Comte.’

Leandra decided it was wiser to change the subject to one she was likely to win.

‘Well,’ she retorted, recovering herself, ‘Marian was not the only one who caused me some awkward conversations tonight. Carver provoked almost the entire room by dancing his first with an _elf_. I had to assure a lot of disappointed noblewomen that his interest in Miss Alerion extended no further than mere politeness.’

But to Leandra’s disappointment, her brother didn’t see it that way, and she was left alone in her disapproval of Carver’s first dance. Her daughters protested; her son folded his arms and sulked; and Gamlen shrugged cheerfully.

‘What’s wrong with that? If young Carver wants to dally with an elf, let him, I say. What’s a nobleman without some sort of eccentricity, anyway?’

‘How could you be so coarse?’ cried an indignant Lady Leandra. ‘My children are respectable members of society; I shall not have you consider them to be anything else!’

‘Well, why not? Elven mistresses are all the rage these days! The new Lord Harriman has one, if all the servants’ gossip about commanding her to “use the feather” are to be believed; and if it’s good enough for Ruxton Harriman, why not good enough for our boy Carver?’

‘Gamlen!’ hissed Leandra. ‘Do not talk about such subjects so! Especially in front of your unmarried nieces!’

But Marian, for her part, was less offended by the subject of mistresses than she was of the idea that elves were only fit for being the mistresses of rich men, rather than treated as people in their own right, and she said so.

‘Miss Merrill is a dear, sweet girl,’ Marian declared, ‘and she deserves better. I have no doubt she would make an excellent wife to a man who is worthy of her; she is too good, too pure, to be used as a cheap aside for fiends like Lady Harriman’s husband. And I, personally,’ she went on, ignoring her mother’s attempts to interrupt her, ‘would not be sorry to know her better.’

Her sister quietly concurred; while Carver continued to sulk in silence, pretending he wasn’t listening to them.

‘I’m surprised at Ruxton Harriman,’ Bethany said, thoughtfully. ‘I’m sure Prince Sebastian once described him as a complete prude. Surely there must be some mistake. The servants’ gossip must have warped somewhat as the stories passed between houses.’

‘Well,’ Leandra said stiffly, ‘we should know better than to rely on servants’ gossip about our fellows of the Hightown set, anyway.’

‘Enough of Lord Harriman and his peccadilloes,’ Marian insisted. ‘I wouldn’t want Carver getting ideas.’

‘I’m not a child, Sister,’ Carver told her, in a surly voice. ‘I don’t need you to tell me how to live my life. And I’m not looking for a wife anyway, let alone a mistress. Wouldn’t be surprised if there wasn’t a single young lady in that room tonight who _wasn’t_ a fortune-hunter, and I’ve been fending off all those types for _years_.’

‘I’m glad to hear it,’ his mother said. ‘I confess I was a little… _concerned_ … by your pursuit of Peaches and Faith all those years ago. Those two women were… were rather _fast_ , weren’t they?’

‘Carver,’ Marian interrupted her mother, ignoring her brother’s now red face, ‘I think you should call on Miss Alerion tomorrow. It would be nothing more than well-bred courtesy, after all; she was your first partner at the dance, so you must call on her.’

‘Oh, I see no occasion for that,’ Leandra disagreed. ‘While etiquette dictates that a gentleman call the next day on his principle partner for the evening, Carver did not dance more than once with anyone.’

‘Indeed,’ Carver agreed, relieved; shortly after, the three siblings retired for the night, leaving their mother to entertain Uncle Gamlen by herself.

But before entering their respective chambers, Marian shot Bethany a look; and Bethany attempted to persuade her twin, much more gently, that since Miss Alerion – as his first partner – was the closest he’d had to a principle partner, it would indeed be the polite thing for him to call on her in the morning. 

 


	7. Chapter 7

Merrill was surprised and amazed when Sir Carver called on the Sabraes the next day. Unfortunately for him, he was received very poorly by Tamlen, who was determined that no _shemlen_ should ever set foot in elven territory. Sir Carver was promptly sent back home; and it was left to Marethari to gently persuade Tamlen that receiving a _shem_ , just this once, could do no harm.

Sir Carver returned later in the day, frowning more grumpily than ever, but this time with his two sisters in tow; and Merrill couldn’t help wondering, most comically, if Sir Carver had brought them along as backup. She giggled to herself at the thought; that perhaps this large, powerful, much-admired man had to bring his sisters along so they could help him with the charm that he so sorely lacked.

But this was all conjecture to amuse herself. Perhaps his sisters merely wanted a day out.

Or perhaps, she considered, as she observed the Hawke siblings walking up the drive, what might have been more likely was that his sisters had dragged him back over. Miss Hawke had struck Merrill as a headstrong woman who was used to her own way (though perhaps not as much as Captain Isabela), while Miss Bethany and her brother merely trailed in her wake. Even now, as Merrill watched them from the window, Miss Hawke was marching with great purpose up the driveway, while Miss Bethany ambled contentedly behind her and a surly Sir Carver kept one pace behind his twin.

Marethari went to receive them in the Sundermount Estate’s spacious hallway. Merrill herself did not go to greet them, feeling as if she may not be important enough to meet their guests; however, her burning curiosity brought her from the upstairs window to the shadows at the top of the stairs that led to the hallway, so that she could listen to what was being said anyway.

‘Lovely to meet you again, Mrs Sabrae,’ she heard Miss Hawke say; a slight shuffling told Merrill the ladies were curtseying to each other as Sir Carver bowed. ‘I apologise for my brother’s manners earlier, for he must have done something for Mr Sabrae to send him away.’

‘You need not worry, Miss Hawke,’ Marethari told her. ‘My son Tamlen is a little wary of _shemlen_ – I mean, humans – that he does not know; I apologise for the inconvenience, but please be assured that it was not personal in the least.’

Standing where she was behind the drapes at the top of the grand staircase, Merrill couldn’t help thinking that was a rather inaccurate way of describing Tamlen’s disdain for _all_ humans, whether he knew them or not. Given how Dalish mothers – including Marethari herself – used to frighten their children with stories about humans, Tamlen’s mistrust and dislike of humans was not necessarily unusual among Dalish elves. The stories Dalish mothers told were sadly often based in experience – and therefore Tamlen’s attitude, as far as Merrill had always been concerned, was perfectly understandable.

However, thought Merrill as she peeked from the curtain at the tall, now resigned-looking Sir Carver, for a man who was Tamlen’s social superior – and, judging by his broad muscularity, could probably best Tamlen in a physical fight too, if Sir Carver wanted to – he had accepted Tamlen aggressively driving him off the Sundermount land, as if he’d respected the elven man’s authority regardless of what society dictated. Merrill found that curious; and she could see Marethari did too, by the way she was receiving them.

‘Oh! do not worry,’ smirked Miss Hawke, eyes twinkling, ‘I cannot say I blame Mr Sabrae if it _was_ personal; I trust that he had his reasons. I mean no disrespect by coming back over to Sundermount today and bringing my brother with me; we rather felt we should apologise if we _had_ been impertinent or caused any distress, especially to any of Miss Merrill’s family. My brother Carver had been hoping to call on her this morning, since she made such a fine partner at last night’s ball, and pay her his compliments.’

‘You are very kind,’ Marethari replied, and Merrill could tell Marethari was just as surprised as she was. Sir Carver, however, looked resigned and a little abashed, and Merrill guessed that Miss Hawke had indeed marched him back over to call on them properly. But why?

‘I apologise for upsetting Mr Sabrae this morning, ma’am,’ Sir Carver finally said; his tone was polite enough, but his air seemed to suggest he was entirely reluctant to be here, or even to talk at all. ‘My sisters hope – I mean, _I_ hope,’ he corrected himself at Miss Hawke’s brief glare, ‘that I have not ruined our chances of continued acquaintance with your good selves.’

Marethari waved his apology away. ‘Please do not trouble yourself, child,’ she said, soothingly. ‘We should be apologising to _you_ , for our own poor manners.’

‘I am sure it was just a misunderstanding,’ Miss Bethany said; her brown eyes were as warm and gentle as her manner, and Merrill couldn’t help thinking how different she was from her siblings. ‘No apologies will be necessary, Mrs Sabrae; we are honoured that you have received us today.’

‘You are too kind.’

‘Is Miss Alerion about?’ Miss Hawke asked. ‘We will not trouble her if she does not wish it, but we were particularly keen to spend time with her again.’

Merrill started; and in her surprise she almost revealed herself from her hiding spot. Nobody had ever wanted to spend time with _her_ before. Aside from the relatives she lived with, and their friends, Merrill had never had friends of her own before; and the idea that there were other people in the world apart from her family that would want to spend time with her was a new one. She blushed, though she could not tell why; the fact that people actually _wanted_ to spend time with her, rather than being obliged to, was a new feeling of pleasure, and made her cheery about her prospects at the next ball she might attend.

Marethari looked surprised too; although whether that was at the idea that humans would be happy to befriend elves or at the idea that humans would want to befriend _Merrill_ was unclear. ‘I am sure Merrill can have no objection,’ Marethari eventually said, and Merrill silently agreed.

‘I am afraid I will not be able to join you,’ Sir Carver added. ‘I will leave my sisters to the pleasure of your company, but I myself have urgent business to attend to.’

Even Miss Bethany’s raised eyebrow, let alone Miss Hawke’s, did not stop him bowing to Marethari, who politely curtseyed in return, and departing.

Merrill breathed a sigh of relief. Despite her excitement, she was nervous enough at the prospect of new friends; but she would feel more relaxed in their company, and derive more pleasure out of it, now that Lord Grumpy-face was no longer one of the party.


	8. Chapter 8

If Merrill was feeling how fortunate it was that the immediate entertainment of their guests meant Marethari might forget to scold her later, Carver was feeling how _un_ fortunate it was that Marian had dragged him over there at all.

‘You’re back surprisingly early from Sundermount,’ she had said when he’d returned home. ‘Did you go at all?’

‘I did, actually. Mr Sabrae turfed me off their land before I even made it to the house. So I came home.’

Marian had glared at him. ‘You don’t look at all put out about it.’

‘No, why should I? I didn’t want to go in the first place, and Mr Sabrae didn’t want me there. Saved me the trouble of a rendezvous neither of us wanted.’

‘Well, this won’t do,’ cried Marian. ‘How am I to continue my acquaintance with Miss Merrill if my brother won’t help his sisters expand their social circle?’

‘Well, _you_ go to Sundermount and see her, if you’re that desperate,’ Carver retorted. ‘ _You’re_ the one who knows how to charm everyone you meet, or so they keep reminding me. Mr Sabrae won’t kick a lady out, and I don’t have to be involved in this charade of calling on someone I don’t want to.’

‘You are not getting out of this so easily. You are coming with us, Carver, even if Bethany and I have to strong-arm you all the way there.’

‘Why do I have to come? And… hey, why has Bethany agreed to this? She’s supposed to be my twin, and on my side!’

‘You are coming because you have clearly offended Mr Sabrae,’ returned Marian, ‘and you need to make amends. And smooth my path to a more intimate acquaintance with his cousin.’

Carver was outraged. ‘I did not even speak. How in Thedas would I have “offended” Mr Sabrae?’

‘I don’t know. Maybe your _face_ offended Mr Sabrae. I can’t say I blame him, honestly.’

Despite their argument, Carver had resentfully given in, as always; and accompanied Marian and Bethany back to the Sundermount Estate. Bethany had seemed more interested in a day out rather than Miss Alerion’s continued acquaintance, although she would never turn it down; whereas Marian was determined that nothing would stand in the way of her new friendship.

As Carver marched back down the driveway of the Sundermount Estate, having made his excuses to leave, he saw Mr Sabrae with his wife in the shrubbery, where the lady was picking embriums. Mr Sabrae glared at Carver; Carver returned it with equal ferocity. Idly, he wondered what Mr Sabrae would think of the Hawke sisters having tea with his cousin in his own house; and he felt glad that he had been prevented from staying at the Sundermount any longer than he had to.

Marian and Bethany had been visibly unhappy at his departure just now; but Mother had made him promise, before he left this morning, that he would call on all the ladies he’d danced with last night – and there were a lot of ladies to call on.

‘If you _must_ call on Miss Alerion, dear,’ Lady Leandra had said, ‘I think you should call on all the ladies you danced with; or, at least the ones whom you do not already have an acquaintance with. It would be unfair to the others to single Miss Alerion out so, especially when you danced with everyone else as often as you did with her.’

Carver grumbled at the thought of calling on anyone at all, but at least it had made a convenient excuse just now. Perhaps if he kept the rest of his visits as short as this one, it would be over sooner than he hoped; and he could go back to the workout he’d planned for himself for the day. He strode on, with a new determination, eager to get the morning’s women concluded with as soon as possible.

Meanwhile, back at the Sundermount Estate, his sisters were being greeted by a very nervous Merrill.

For Merrill’s part, receiving the Miss Hawkes today was the last thing she expected to be doing; and Marethari joined them at first. Marian Hawke utterly charmed the Keeper, who had been fascinated by the elven amulet Miss Hawke was wearing, and impressed by Miss Hawke’s thorough knowledge of its history. Miss Hawke was even able to pronounce the relevant Elvish words, and Merrill had been surprised that a clumsy human tongue was able to speak _elvhen_ so correctly and comfortably.

‘Let me look at you,’ Marethari had said, with a beckon; and Miss Hawke submitted to Marethari’s curious examination with no awkwardness or reluctance. A silence ensued as Marethari’s wise green eyes inspected Miss Hawke’s face carefully. 

‘There’s truth in your face,’ Marethari exclaimed as if in surprise. ‘A rare thing in a human… also, there is a light in your heart.’ Marethari paused, before delivering her advice. ‘Don’t let it go out.’

Merrill wouldn’t have been surprised if Miss Hawke, despite being human, had the charm and ease to win over the rest of her own elven family – maybe even Tamlen, who, for some reason, despised humans more than the rest of them.

‘Tell me,’ Marethari asked, as they returned to the subject of the locket Miss Hawke was wearing, ‘how did this amulet fall to you, child?’

‘It was a gift,’ Miss Hawke replied. ‘A favour I once performed, for the Lady Asha’bellanar.’

Merrill’s eyes widened. She’d heard so much about Lady Asha’bellanar – nicknamed respectfully in Elvish as ‘the woman of many years’; one of the first elven women to rise so high in society with a reputation as fearful as she was powerful – and yet Miss Hawke had met her! After Asha’bellanar had passed away she’d become a sort of legend among Dalish elves. Her funeral had been extremely well-attended – Marethari had taken them all to it, their paths having crossed at some point in her life – and Merrill could recite the Dalish Rite for the Departed that had been chanted at the funeral as if it was written on the back of her hand. It had been beautiful and moving, even for those who did not know her.

It had been said that every Dalish elf who had success in this world had had Asha’bellanar’s favour… but it had also been rumoured that you were just as likely to end up in little bits, strung from the trees, if she disapproved of you. If Miss Hawke – a _human_ – had won Asha’bellanar’s favour and respect, that was even _more_ impressive; and, judging by the respectful way Miss Hawke had spoken of the late elven woman, who’d passed on just after Miss Hawke’s own father had, Merrill knew that Keeper Marethari was just as impressed as she was.

‘You are blessed by luck, then,’ Marethari said, after Miss Hawke finished explaining why Asha’bellanar had gifted her the amulet. She stood up, having satisfied herself that it would be safe to leave Merrill with these human visitors. ‘ _Dareth shiral_ ; I will pray that Mythal watches over your path.’

And with that farewell, Marethari curtsied, and left the room.

‘I hope you do not mind us calling on you,’ Bethany said to Merrill when Marethari had gone. ‘We were delighted to make your acquaintance last night, and my sister was especially keen that we continue it.’

‘As was Captain Isabela,’ interjected Miss Hawke, smiling. ‘As a matter of fact, she encouraged it.’

‘Oh! I’m so glad!’ cried Merrill, ‘I really liked Captain Isabela! I would love to know her better. But… are you sure about this? I haven’t been around people much, and I probably say a lot of things that are very stupid…’

Miss Hawke’s blue-green eyes softened, and Bethany also looked sympathetic. ‘Of course we do,’ she said kindly, as if this was the most obvious thing in the world. ‘It was wonderful getting to know you last night; I know Isabela really felt that she should take you under her wing.’

‘We’ve just spent the past year mourning our father,’ Bethany added, ‘so it was lovely to be out in society again, and meeting new people. Don’t be sorry. It was a pleasure from the usual crowd.’

‘Perhaps we’ll now have an excuse to give Mother when we want to avoid the de Launcets,’ chimed in Miss Hawke with a smirk, and even Miss Bethany laughed.

‘Who are the de Launcets?’ Merrill asked Miss Hawke.

‘One of Hightown’s most snooty families. They’re Orlesian, and incredibly stuck-up. What?’ Marian protested, at Bethany’s reproachful look. ‘Just because _you_ wouldn’t describe them like that, and just because _Mother_ says a lady should not ever criticise our fellows, doesn’t mean it’s not true. I know you agree with me.’

Merrill started to relax at Miss Hawke’s forthright honesty. Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad if she said the ‘wrong’ thing after all – Miss Hawke appeared to care more about a person’s character than whether their manners fitted in with high society, and it was refreshing.

The morning passed; and Merrill had sworn she’d never giggled quite as much as she had. Miss Hawke had been funny and interesting; and Miss Bethany was so kind and warm that Merrill very much hoped that her family would not object too much to their continued acquaintance. Keeper Marethari probably wouldn’t anyway, after Miss Hawke had so thoroughly won her over with her knowledge of, and respect for, elven heritage; and perhaps the Keeper was the most important person to win over.

‘You’re so lucky,’ Merrill had said in amazement at one point.

‘How do you figure?’ Bethany asked.

‘I wish I had a brother and a sister, and a mother and an uncle. It must be wonderful. You’d never be alone!’

‘It _is_ wonderful,’ Bethany smiled, before looking thoughtful. ‘Although… it might be better without Uncle Gamlen.’

Her sister laughed uproariously, and it was left to both Hawke women to explain all about their maternal uncle, the notorious gamester Lord Amell.

‘We should really get going,’ Miss Hawke eventually said, although she looked wistful about leaving. ‘I apologise that our dear brother Carver ran away before he could get to call on you properly earlier, and I hope you are not too offended.’

‘Oh, no! not at all,’ Merrill said, truthfully. ‘I had not been expecting him – or any of you – to call on me anyway, so this was a pleasant surprise!’

‘That is most capital,’ beamed Miss Hawke. ‘In that case, I hope to see you at the next public assembly ball? Mother is determined that her children should marry, so we are all obliged to go… but even if agreeable partners are lacking, Isabela and Bethany and I will be there, and you are welcome to join us.’

Merrill demurred at first, wondering aloud if Keeper Marethari had other plans – but, on Miss Hawke’s application for Merrill to be present at the next ball, to Merrill’s surprise, the Keeper had no objection.

To the next ball, therefore, Merrill was to go.


	9. Chapter 9

The public assembly rooms were just as lavish as they were last time; but this time, Merrill entered the ball in high spirits. A few more elves were attending this one, including some who were unattached; but Merrill was much more cheerful at the prospect of seeing her new friends again than whether she would meet a suitable elven husband.

Tamlen had initially refused to come, and had to be persuaded by Mahariel; but Marethari willingly accompanied Merrill and Fenarel along, for the latter had heard that his Sabrae cousins were to be present – and the prospect of seeing Junar, Ineria and Terath again finally convinced Tamlen he should go. ‘It will be good to hear what stories Hahren Paivel has this time,’ Tamlen said, referring to his paternal uncle, ‘and our cousins can help us make up a card-table free of the _shemlen_.’

A wave from Miss Hawke told her where her new friends were, and Merrill excitedly crossed the room to greet them. Miss Hawke radiated confident self-assurance in coquelicot satin; while Miss Bethany, dressed in ivory, had finished off her silver-threaded muslin gown with a pretty rose-red silk scarf adorning her neck.

‘You look lovely, sweet thing,’ winked Captain Isabela, appraising Merrill’s aquamarine silk dress as the Miss Hawkes curtseyed in welcome. ‘That pale bluish-green colour suits you; and those dark green leaves are woven into your hair very prettily.’

‘Thank you!’ Merrill answered happily. ‘They’re an elven fashion, but I wasn’t sure if it would work so well here, in a human gathering? Or, a mostly human gathering anyway. The Keeper – I mean, my aunt – did not think I should, but it was too late to take them out of my hair by the time we had to leave.’

Miss Hawke smiled kindly and assured Merrill she looked well, while Captain Isabela chuckled. ‘Oh, Kitten,’ she said, ‘let me teach you some of my philosophy. The world will for ever try to mould you into what it thinks you should be; but never be ashamed of what, or who, you are. _You_ are enough.’

‘I will try to remember that,’ Merrill said, voice faltering slightly. ‘The Keeper means well; but sometimes I feel as if I can’t do anything right in her eyes. Whether it’s my dress, or my manner, or… or anything else.’

‘Well, I think you look _delightful_ ,’ proclaimed Miss Hawke, ‘and anyone at this gathering who does not think so is a fool. Don’t you think Miss Merrill looks delightful, Carver?’

Merrill jumped; she had not seen Sir Carver approach; and now that she turned around and saw him looming behind her, all the skittishness she’d felt on peeping on him at Sundermount returned. She curtseyed, if only to hide how anxious she suddenly felt at being in the man’s presence.

Sir Carver did not answer his sister’s question, but bowed deeply to her. ‘Miss Alerion,’ he greeted her. ‘My mother requests the company of my sisters; I am sorry to interrupt.’

‘If Mother thinks she is going to set me up with Seneschal Bran’s son again, she can disabuse herself of that notion at once,’ Miss Hawke muttered to herself, as she followed Miss Bethany to find Lady Leandra. ‘Please excuse me, Miss Merrill; I trust that my friend will look after you in our absence.’

‘Of course I will,’ laughed Captain Isabela, with another wink. ‘Count on it, sweet thing; go see what Lady Hawke is after, and then you can return to me.’

Miss Hawke smiled, and then left. Merrill frowned after the Miss Hawkes; a look had passed between the elder sister and Captain Isabela that she didn’t quite understand, but was unsure whether she should ask about it anyway. Captain Isabela soon commanded her attention, however; and before long they were discussing the play that the Captain had recently accompanied the Hawke sisters to.

Despite what Carver had said in front of his mother at the previous ball, he had actually found Merrill rather pretty, albeit in an unusual way; although he’d been in too sour a mood to really appreciate her much more than as a ‘tolerable’ dancing partner. Now, however, he was stunned to find he thought her _beautiful_. He began to wish to know more of her, and attempted to attend her conversation with Captain Isabela.

Merrill, who had hoped that ignoring Sir Carver would bore him enough that he’d go away, was disappointed that her plan didn’t seem to be working. Sir Carver continued to loom over her, tall and forbidding, even in a white frilly cravat. His fine dark blue tailcoat and equally form-fitting waistcoat seemed to make his figure even more imposing – although Merrill noticed his breeches were beige this time, rather than navy blue; and, to her amusement, the way they fit around his hips left far less to the imagination than the dark breeches he wore the first time they met.

Emboldened by Captain Isabela’s presence – perhaps the other woman’s confidence was contagious, Merrill thought – she decided to challenge him.

‘Sir Carver,’ Merrill began, as playfully as she could, ‘I can see there are many ladies who are seated and waiting expectantly for you to ask for their hand tonight; and our conversation surely cannot interest you. Would you not rather be dancing?’

‘I would not. Unless you, Miss Alerion, would be so kind as to honour me with your hand.’

Merrill giggled; on Sir Carver’s repetition, much more seriously, that he would be very happy to engage her in a dance, she politely smiled and shook her head. Surely he must be speaking in jest, she thought; and she was in no mood to be the object of such a joke. ‘Thank you, sir, but I am not inclined to dance.’

Isabela’s eyes sparkled. ‘I thought Lady Leandra _didn’t_ insist you dance with every lady in sight this time,’ she smirked, and Sir Carver’s expression frosted over.

‘I did not realise my sister told you so much,’ he said, stiffly; and Merrill was astonished at Isabela’s boldness in speaking so bluntly to a gentleman, even to one she knew so well; and almost as astonished at Sir Carver’s lack of reproof. Isabela’s manner of talking would have been fine among elves, but – weren’t humans supposed to be more stuffy and formal than this?

Isabela, however, remained completely undeterred by any societal expectations for how ladies should behave, and actually seemed to revel in it. ‘Oh, do get over yourself,’ she told Sir Carver, good-naturedly rolling her eyes at his surly face. ‘I know you’d be relieved if you’re no longer forced to dance with every single lady in the room. Or being forced to call on them all the next day.’

‘True, true,’ Sir Carver conceded, before turning back to Merrill and fixing his blue eyes on her, and Merrill felt her nervousness rising again under his impassive stare. _Don’t let him intimidate you, Merrill_. ‘Miss Alerion,’ he addressed her, ‘speaking of which, I… should probably apologise for not calling on you properly the day after we danced. As the Captain says, I had… a number of people I was expected to call upon that morning. I should thank you, however, for entertaining my sisters so well.’

‘Oh! don’t be sorry!’ Merrill replied, wondering why he continued to linger. ‘It was a pleasure. Your sisters are very fine women, and I am honoured they spent time with me. Shouldn’t you be dancing?’ she added, flapping her hands in the direction of all the ladies sitting down waiting for a dance partner, two of whom were now giving Merrill a hostile stare, ‘I’m sure there are a number of women here tonight who would be honoured at a dance with you.’

Sir Carver looked taken aback. ‘That’s… very considerate of you, Miss Alerion,’ he said. ‘Considerate towards the other ladies here, I mean. I… I suppose I should not take up any more of your time.’

He bowed to her, and Merrill curtseyed; and finally, _finally_ , he left. He stalked past all the seated ladies; and Merrill knit her eyebrows as she watched him, perplexed at his behaviour, until Isabela started talking to her again, and distracted Merrill from puzzling over him.


	10. Chapter 10

Lady Leandra was not having a good time. There was a lack of suitable menfolk for either of her daughters to dance with, and it was _most_ troubling. How on earth was any respectable mother to marry off her daughters if the balls they attended were like this? She had called her daughters over to complain, although Bethany seemed more sympathetic to her concerns than Marian did.

‘Please do not trouble yourself, Mother,’ had been Bethany’s optimistic response. ‘It does appear that women vastly outnumber men at this gathering, but I assure you that Marian and I will enjoy ourselves.’

‘Perhaps,’ Leandra had responded, ‘but I was hoping that Marian would dance at this ball; she promised me so faithfully this time.’

‘I suppose some of the ladies will have to console ourselves in a dance with each other, if the Master of Ceremonies allows it,’ Marian had said. ‘Do not distress yourself, Mother – I promised you I would dance; it is no-one’s fault that the genders are sorely imbalanced tonight. I will apply to Mr Tethras directly; I am sure Captain Isabela won’t mind, given that she has already stood up with Carver for his first dance.’

‘Indeed,’ Leandra had replied absently; she wished her eldest daughter _didn’t_ have such a firm friendship with that pirate girl, and it had vexed her greatly that her son had danced his first with the so-called captain (the very thought of a woman calling herself ‘Captain’ and having her own ship! The audacity of it was almost too much for Leandra’s noble sensibilities). ‘But – must you, Marian dear? There are many respectable ladies seated and waiting for partners; I see none of them standing up with each other.’

‘Perhaps they have not thought to ask.’

‘That is true, dear. But – do consider etiquette. I would not want you to breach the rules of the ballroom tonight, even if it meant I witness the pleasure of seeing you dance.’

‘But it will not break the rules if the Master of Ceremonies himself grants permission,’ Marian had pressed, ‘and Mr Tethras is a socially sensible and agreeable man. He would not wish to see so many disappointed ladies if he can help it.’

And with that, Marian curtseyed to her mother and left, leaving Bethany to soothe Lady Leandra’s disappointments.

At least Carver appeared to be dancing this time; and, Leandra noted with satisfaction, without her ordering her son to do so. However, Leandra _had_ been worried, when her son had walked over to talk to his sisters and Miss Alerion after his dances with the de Launcet girls, that he would ask Miss Alerion again – and then she would have to soothe half the scandalised mothers in the room again.

Even after so many years trying to re-ingratiate herself into Kirkwall high society after eloping with Sir Malcolm – and moving to his Fereldan manor until the scandal of her broken engagement to Comte Guillaume de Launcet had suitably died down – sometimes, Lady Leandra felt there were certain nobles who still wanted to see her grovel, still wanted to see her make up for her supposed ‘mistake’ all those years ago. Sometimes it felt as if no matter how hard she worked to try to prove herself, no matter how many snubs she had endured, there were those who would still never quite accept or forgive her, even after returning to Kirkwall following two decades living in Ferelden.

Moving back into the grand estate in Kirkwall had restored her respectability somewhat, and re-established her – and her family – among the Kirkwall gentry as persons worth knowing; but Leandra knew there were still those who regarded her with mistrust for something she did eight-and-twenty years ago, even though the Comte himself had moved on and married Dulci, a fellow Orlesian, who’d borne him children that most of Kirkwall tried to avoid if they could help it.

So it was with some satisfaction that Leandra observed her son politely bowing to Miss Alerion and leaving her with Captain Isabela without a dancing engagement, although she fretted that he proceeded to dance no more that evening with anyone, despite the number of ladies sitting down waiting for a partner.

For Carver’s part, he left Merrill’s side feeling more unsettled than she did. Mother had allowed him, this time, to dance as few as he wanted after he’d caused her embarrassment last time. (And if Carver were honest, he didn’t enjoy having so many families to call on last time; he suspected he offended half of them by keeping his visits as short as possible.)

Mother’s only suggestion for tonight was that, if he danced, then he might dance with Fifi or Babette de Launcet at some point – ‘I daresay it will keep the Comtesse off my back; she cried over it so shrilly last time! The entire room heard, and I should have died of embarrassment’ – and this he had done for Mother’s sake, after Captain Isabela so sportingly obliged him for his first dance; but once Merrill had turned up with her family after his first three dances were over, and looking as captivating as she did… there was no other woman in the room he was able to pay attention to.

Meanwhile, Merrill was having a wonderful time talking to Captain Isabela; they were soon, however, rejoined by Miss Hawke.

‘Mother isn’t happy at the lack of men here tonight,’ Miss Hawke told them. ‘That’s what she called Bethany and I over to complain about.’

‘And you promised her you’d dance tonight,’ mused Isabela.

‘I did. And I shall,’ Miss Hawke replied. ‘I just applied to Mr Tethras, and he has agreed that women can stand up with each other.’

‘Really?’ Merrill chirped. ‘You can do that?’

‘Well, yes,’ Isabela smiled at her, ‘if there isn’t enough men, and the Master of Ceremonies permits it, then yes – women can dance together.’

‘Indeed,’ Miss Hawke smirked. ‘I was hoping that Captain Isabela would oblige me for the next dance; although I’m sorry to deprive you, Miss Alerion, of my friend’s fine company.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said in surprise, before recovering. ‘But, of course – it is no trouble at all! I should go and talk to my cousins anyway; I believe they are at the card tables, and I have neglected them this evening.’

‘Then it is settled,’ Miss Hawke said. ‘The Captain and I shall dance, while you perform your social duties to your family.’

The band struck up the music for the next dance, and both Miss Hawke and Captain Isabela gave Merrill a friendly curtsey of farewell before leaving for the dance. Captain Isabela, voluptuous in a corseted white dress adorned with a slash of deep blue embroidered silk, contrasted wonderfully with Miss Hawke’s poppy-red satin, and together they moved gracefully and perfectly in time, as if they’d danced together many times before. All the Hawke siblings were fine dancers, noted Merrill, as she shot both women encouraging smiles whenever she caught their eye. Both looked radiant; and Merrill was sure there were no two women more beautiful tonight.

After a few minutes watching them, Merrill went to rejoin her family; she had not spoken to any of them since entering the assembly rooms, and it was time to rectify that.

Sir Carver was standing to one side, ignoring the fawning attentions of two giggling girls with large fans and Orlesian accents – the same mean thin-faced women, Merrill observed, who’d glared at her earlier when Sir Carver came to speak to her and Captain Isabela – and Merrill realised, with a jolt, that they were also the same spiteful giggling girls who’d watched her with disdain the very first time she’d danced with Sir Carver at the last ball they’d all attended. Merrill hadn’t recognised them at first – they were more heavily rouged and powdered this time – but now that she did, she wondered who they were, although she had no desire to be introduced.

Sir Carver behaved almost as if the attentive Orlesian women didn’t exist, his blue eyes fixed in a hard stare on Merrill as she traversed the room; Merrill could feel his eyes burning into her all the way she walked, even at this distance from him. Confused, Merrill turned her head sharply away; perhaps Sir Carver disapproved of her for whatever reason, and she didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of him knowing she’d seen his critical gaze.

She didn’t have long to dwell on it, however; upon approaching the Sabraes in the card-room, she found them in a boisterously good mood, and ready to mingle.

‘There you are, Merrill,’ Marethari said triumphantly. ‘Hahren Paivel was just enquiring about you. Come; I would like you to meet Mr Pol. He is like you; he grew up in an alienage, and our Sabrae cousins have adopted him into their clan.’

Pol was a handsome, sandy-haired elf about Merrill’s age, with a worldly air. After they exchanged polite pleasantries, he asked her to dance.

Merrill’s little heart soared. As Pol led her to the dance, she held her head high: _this_ was what she’d hoped for since her coming out. A handsome elven man to dance and converse with; how astounding that the Creators had now granted her wish! Pol was not as smooth at dancing as Merrill was, although Cousin Junar had tried to teach him; but Merrill didn’t mind – his occasional stumbles covered any clumsy moments she might have, and it was far more relaxing than any other dance she’d had.

‘I have not been around this many humans before,’ Pol remarked, between quadrille steps. ‘As I’m sure you’ll know, we didn’t have much exposure to humans in the alienage; although the little some of us _did_ have was not pleasant.’

‘That is true,’ Merrill agreed. ‘It can be daunting at first, being around them at balls like these, and knowing so many of them look down on you. It’s easier tonight, with so many elves in attendance.’

‘I understand from your Keeper that you are acquainted with the Hawke family. I was sceptical at first, they are human after all; but I trust her judgement when she says they appear to be the exception to the rule.’

‘Yes. Miss Hawke performed a favour for Asha’bellanar, and I think that’s why Keeper Marethari is more positively disposed toward them than she would usually be. Mahariel too; although not Tamlen – but his wariness is understandable given our history, and common to most elves, I think.’

‘To most elves I know,’ Pol said, ‘the only difference between them and humans is how much coin they have. Coin is the great equaliser, not living free.’

‘I daresay you are right.’

The dance carried on, and after a while Merrill thought she felt the weight of someone’s gaze on her. She turned her head as she laughed at a particularly amusing observation Pol had made; only to find none other than Sir Carver, staring at her just like earlier. Embarrassed on discerning his astonishment at seeing her dance, she turned away again, and focused on Pol’s conversation even more determinedly.

Unknown to Merrill, for Carver, watching her was a pleasant way to ignore the witterings of the de Launcet sisters at his side. Merrill’s figure was light and pleasing; he had been transfixed by the way she moved. The leaves in her dark hair were not any fashion he knew, but they complemented her green eyes and pointed ears perfectly; and the light blue-green gown she wore became her very well, especially against her pale skin. Miss Alerion had refused his offer to dance, however, and that was unexpected; but since she was now dancing with an elf of presumably a similar social standing, perhaps it was best. This way, Carver pondered (while trying not to envy her partner), he surely couldn’t be in any danger from her. 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, a couple of notes on this chapter - in Regency England, women could indeed dance with each other if women vastly outnumbered men at a dance, and if the Master of Ceremonies permitted it. (Ditto with men, although in that case, male couples had to stand at the bottom of the set.) It is a nifty way of Marian to dance just like she promised her mother... 
> 
> In Jane Austen's own novels, she tends to use the 3rd person largely from one person's point of view, although will occasionally switch out to another main character's point of view for a few paragraphs (or even just one paragraph) with no discernible scene breaks / POV breaks, before switching back. I've tried to mimic her style a little bit here, even if I don't personally feel so comfortable with it (it's not as smooth as just doing a scene break or changing POVs in a new chapter, but probably slightly more authentic, maybe).
> 
> Anyway. Apologies for such a long time between chapters! I had a lot on, a funeral and lots of travel, including a long-haul flight from the UK to the USA. I wanted to get this chapter up before my long flight back to the UK, so please accept this super-long chapter to keep you going in the meantime!


	11. Chapter 11

The next day, Merrill was wandering barefoot around the gardens on either side of the driveway leading up to the Sundermount Estate; she was free to do this at home, away from any human gaze or judgement, and she liked the feeling of the grass beneath her feet. The late autumn air was crisp on her face, and the morning dew made the cold earth a little soft and wet; but her footsteps made a satisfying rustle among the red and brown leaves that had fallen in her path, and Merrill was happy to note there was even a smattering of lawn daisies on the green. It seemed almost symbolic, Merrill thought to herself, that the daisies had appeared out of season – on the day she turned one-and-twenty at last – free for her to pick them and make daisy chains while she walked.

Last night’s ball had been far more pleasant than her first ever ball; she’d been delighted to see her friends, and even had an agreeable dance with Pol. Unlike any of the Sabraes, Pol was city-born, worldly; Merrill herself had been largely raised in the countryside. Both, however, had spent at least some of their younger years in Ferelden, far from Kirkwall; and Merrill had been pleased for an opportunity for both of them to reminisce about the rolling green hills and the smell of the mud on a rainy day, whenever they’d managed to get out of their cruel and crowded alienages.

The crunch of a footstep on the driveway’s gravel startled her; and Merrill turned round – only to see Sir Carver stop in his tracks.

‘Sir Carver!’ Merrill cried out in shock, and blushed as she realised she was stood there in bare feet under her pelisse and skirts, and that if he hadn’t noticed now, he soon would. Why? Why was he here now?

‘I–’ he started; he looked as shocked and embarrassed at being there as Merrill felt. He bowed. ‘Miss Alerion. I – I came to call on you. I bear a message for you and your family.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill answered, hastily bobbing a curtsey in return.

He looked her up and down; and finally, to Merrill’s dread, noticed her feet. What was it Marethari had taught her – never to let a human see your bare ankles, was it? The way Marethari had put it, human men would assume you were ‘fast’, a woman of easy virtue – a _whore_ even, apparently! – and treat you as such. Merrill had been suitably terrified into wearing her thickest stockings inside her shoes at both balls – she certainly hadn’t wanted any human man to think _anything_ about her – and now here was Sir Carver, free to judge her in her own home.

At his raised eyebrow, Merrill spoke; she had to explain, and perhaps even discourage him from the property. ‘Elves do not have the same rules of etiquette amongst ourselves as humans do,’ she said, almost defiant. ‘If I had known you were going to call, I would have worn stockings and shoes. Here among my family, the way I am attired is perfectly acceptable.’

‘I see,’ he said. ‘In which case, I apologise for happening upon you like this, Miss Alerion.’

His tone was polite, but his blue-eyed stare was as hard as his face, and Merrill waited expectantly for him to leave, clasping her hands in front of her with the daisy chain she had been weaving; his pause, however, gave her leisure to observe him. Far from the fussy neck-frills of yesterday, Sir Carver was wearing a stiff white cravat to suit his stiff demeanour; and that thought amused Merrill enough to brave a look at the rest of his tall, imposing form.

Even on a cool day like this, the man seemed to favour snug-fitting clothes, from his dark woollen tailcoat to his smart, knee-high leather riding boots; he cut a very fine figure, and she thought she would have even considered him handsome if it hadn’t been for his prideful, ill-mannered attitude. Merrill wondered if Carver was ever aware that his breeches were scandalously tight across the front; she could even tell which side the man dressed. She could only surmise that humans were less modest about that sort of thing.

Finally, she broke the silence; he seemed at a loss as to what to say or do, and Merrill was impatient for him to go. ‘You were here to deliver a message, sir?’

‘I was. My sisters request the pleasure of your company at a dinner party my mother – Lady Leandra – is holding.’

‘Oh.’ Merrill started to fidget with the daisy chain in her hands; she stopped when the motion drew Sir Carver’s notice. ‘I am surprised your sisters did not come themselves.’

‘They intended to, but Captain Isabela called, and they walked out to the shops.’ His eyes flicked back up to hers. ‘I offered to come in their place, bearing their message.’

‘It must be awfully nice,’ Merrill said, half to herself, ‘to have a sister, or a friend like Captain Isabela, to chaperone you when you wish to venture outside your family’s grounds. Although I wonder how Isabela is able to do it without censure.’

Sir Carver looked keenly at her, and Merrill hoped she had not sounded too wistful. ‘I believe the Captain was married before,’ he answered. ‘She wed just before her nineteenth birthday, I believe, but was widowed a few years after.’

‘And that is why she is able to accompany your unmarried sisters,’ Merrill deduced, ‘or go about her business without a chaperone herself. I am sorry to hear she lost her husband so young, though. _Elgar’nan_ , that must have been dreadful for her.’

To her surprise, Merrill thought she heard Sir Carver snort, before he hastily covered it with a cough. ‘I am sure she’ll tell you all about it in full, someday,’ he said, and Merrill wondered what more there could be to the story of Captain Isabela’s tragic young widowhood. ‘Your feet,’ he said, gesturing where she stood, ‘must be getting awfully cold.’

‘It is no trouble at all, sir. I am used to it; I grew up in Ferelden.’

Sir Carver raised his eyebrows, and his entire face softened in interest. ‘How curious,’ said he. ‘So did I.’

The polite thing to do, Merrill knew, would be to indulge him in this new line of conversation, maybe even reminisce over Fereldan memories; but Merrill was in no mood to do so, and while she hadn’t wanted to admit it to him, her feet were getting rather chilly. ‘I thank you for your kind invitation, sir, but I really must be getting back. Keeper Marethari will be needing me about the estate, no doubt.’

‘Right,’ he said. ‘All right then… Shall I accompany you back to the house?’

He held out his arm for her, and Merrill, eyeing it, did not take it. She walked as briskly as she could to the Sundermount estate, while Sir Carver followed her up the path, saying nothing. He paused briefly to greet Marethari and Mahariel, and deliver the same message he had to Merrill (Tamlen and Fenarel were curiously absent, she noted), before he left his card with them with a bow, and departed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Technically, the name for the scandalously super-tight Regency-era breeches Carver would be wearing would be "inexpressibles", and the boots I've described him wearing would be "hessians", but I decided the chapter would be more easily understood without the proper terms. Apologies in advance to any Regency purists reading. 
> 
> Admittedly this chapter (and perhaps one or two of the previous chapters) uses less Regency-style language than it should, but I just really wanted to get them out before December ended, so I didn't have time to edit them. Sorry about that, again. 
> 
> Also, LOOK what lovely fanart the wonderful @norageonlypancakes from Tumblr drew for this fic - [here's the link](https://norageonlypancakes.tumblr.com/post/169151613320/last-hours-of-2k17-at-my-place-and-i-want-to)!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for the (almost) 3-month delay in posting this chapter! As most of you know, I was writing a book for the whole of January; and after I delivered that to my publisher, I had to catch up on all my other work that I'd neglected in order to get the book written – and I meant to post up this chapter some time in February, but then I got sick for a couple of weeks. 
> 
> Anyway – I am now (temporarily) free of work, until my book editor gets back to me with any amendments he wants me to do, and I am now no longer sick, so I can get back to writing this fic! Apologies for a "bridging" chapter rather than a plot-fuelled or action chapter, but it is needed for the plot/story and hopefully I can post the next one up - with all that delicious romantic tension – soon! Enjoy! ❤️

‘Why,’ Tamlen growled, some hours after Sir Carver had left, ‘was that arrogant, ugly _shem_ setting foot here again?’

‘He was inviting us to a dinner party at the Hawke Estate in Kirkwall’s Hightown,’ his wife answered in a soothing tone, as Merrill tensed. ‘Where did you go, my love?’

‘Fenarel and I saw him coming, and decided to make ourselves scarce,’ Tamlen replied, as his younger brother joined them in the drawing-room, ‘but rest assured, we were watching him, in case he caused any trouble. _Shems_ are like vermin – we can’t trust them not to make mischief.’

‘But if it weren’t for Merrill, they wouldn’t be here in the first place,’ Fenarel chimed in; he turned towards her in accusation. ‘Your friendship with the _shemlen_ puts us all at great inconvenience, if not worse. If you’re wise, you’ll stay far away from them, Merrill. No sane person would touch what you’ve taken up.’

‘That is unfair,’ cried Merrill. ‘I did not seek their company or friendship, and I did not choose that they sought me. And if the Keeper does not object,’ she continued, with a glance at Marethari for her reaction, ‘then I see no reason why you should.’

‘The Hawke girls do seem more trustworthy than any others of their kind,’ Marethari ventured carefully, as all eyes turned to her for her own wisdom on the matter. ‘I cannot know what a _shem_ ’s true intent might be, nor that of an entire family, but so far the elder Miss Hawke appears respectable; and so far, I have no objection.’

‘Even without taking her family into account, how can you know that Miss Hawke is true in her intentions,’ Tamlen pressed. ‘Indeed, she gained Asha’bellanar’s favour by fulfilling a promise; but how can you know Miss Hawke will still not turn out to be like every other _shemlen_ that has ever blighted elven lives.’

‘There is great wisdom to be found all around us, if you know how to listen for it,’ Marethari advised. ‘There are few things in this world stronger than a promise kept. Remember that.’

‘Perhaps it might do Merrill some good to see more of the world,’ Mahariel said, ‘and while female companionship and gatherings for _elvhen_ are in short supply, perhaps for now Merrill should take what she can.’

As the two men exclaimed in surprise, Marethari nodded. ‘Your father might have agreed. I remember, once – he spoke at a gathering, telling the clans that more of us need to voyage into the _shemlen_ world and learn their ways.’

‘And you are just like him, in some ways,’ Tamlen said to his wife affectionately. ‘I’ve never known anyone so eager to wander. I bet you’ll end up a flat-ear someday, living in the city like a _shem_.’

Mahariel laughed; she was quite used to her husband’s teasing – but even though Tamlen meant it with playfulness and not malice, Merrill winced. ‘Flat-ear’ was a term for any elf that lived among humans for any reason, and Merrill remembered Hahren Paivel’s opining that ‘the flat-ears differ little from their _shemlen_ masters’ – but the way some elves spat the word, one could be forgiven for thinking it was the worst possible fate that could ever befall an elf.

‘Junar said Pol was a “flat-ear”,’ Merrill retorted, ‘or used to be, before he lived with the Sabraes.’

‘Now that you mention it – how was your dance with Pol?’ Marethari asked. ‘I know Junar has been trying to teach him – and so has Radha, I understand – but I hear Mr Pol finds it all rather difficult.’

Merrill could feel the heat rising in her cheeks. ‘It was very pleasant, Keeper Marethari. He stumbled a little at times, but it was the most amiable dancing engagement I’ve had so far since my own coming-out last week. I did not see Radha at the ball last night, is she not yet out?’

‘She is not. But I gather she has hopes of being out soon. She longs for society, and for a ball.’

‘If Mr Harshal _does_ propose to Ineria as anticipated, then her elder sister’s marriage would mean Radha definitely will be out soon,’ Merrill reasoned. ‘I wonder if her family shall arrange a private ball for _her_ , or must she come out at a public gathering as well?’

‘Enough about Cousin Radha,’ Fenarel interjected. ‘This Hawke dinner party invitation – I declare I will not go. In all likelihood, we shall be the only elves there who are not their flat-ear servants. What say the rest of you?’

‘I could not go even if I wanted to,’ Tamlen said. ‘I have business in the south. I have been invited to view an heirloom for purchase – an old and ornate elven mirror, which I am told will adorn this estate wonderfully.’

‘Will you need me to come with you, my love?’ Mahariel asked her husband, but he shook his head.

‘I believe my intelligence is good. Should I purchase it, I am confident you will approve. In fact, I leave not long before this dinner party takes place.’

‘Then it is settled,’ his mother said, sagely. ‘We will not go.’

Merrill’s heart sank. Even though she had not wanted to see Sir Carver earlier, she had been hoping that they could go to the dinner party, if only so she could spend more time with the Hawke girls and Captain Isabela. Anything had to be better than being confined to Sundermount, feeling alone even when her cousins were in the room. Merrill had never been good with people, but she didn’t want to pass up the chance to be with people who actually seemed to _like_ her company, rather than merely tolerate it.

‘Did _you_ want to go, Merrill?’ Mahariel inquired gently.

‘Well…’ Merrill began, before hesitating; today was the day she turned one-and-twenty, after all, and no doubt Keeper Marethari was planning to mark the occasion in her own small way – and the last thing Merrill wanted to do was start a family quarrel and ruin everything.

‘Because I will happily attend with you, should you wish to go.’

Merrill looked up at her. ‘You would?’

‘Tamlen will not need me to accompany him, and I have no other plans. I can chaperone you, and I am curious to see the Hawke Estate myself; I hear it is most impressive.’

‘Mahariel, are you sure?’ Marethari looked surprised and concerned. ‘Tamlen will already be absent; we cannot lose you too.’

‘You will not “lose” me,’ laughed Mahariel, ‘and I am quite sure. I am not afraid of the _shemlen_ ; and if you believe Miss Hawke can be trusted, I have even less to fear.’

Marethari’s lips thinned in a line briefly, and for a moment Merrill was afraid that Marethari would forbid both of them to go anyway. Tamlen, meanwhile, looked away; Merrill knew he would never dream of telling his wife what she should do, unlike most men, but she had less confidence in Marethari. ‘Merrill has expressed no wish of going,’ the older woman said.

‘That’s because you never asked me,’ Merrill snapped, and surprised herself at her outburst. ‘None of you have ever asked me what I want, or what I think, about _anything_. And now that I’ve come of age, you still won’t take me seriously.’

Everyone stared; the room went as silent as an elder’s grave. Merrill flushed, furious with herself.

‘I – I am _so_ sorry,’ she eventually stammered, not looking up; she could not bring herself to meet the expressions on their faces. ‘I beg you will excuse me.’

She left the room as briskly as she could, cheeks burning all the way.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for yet another delay in posting up this chapter! It turns out that writing and finalising a book for publication is more work than even I expected :-( but here is a slightly longer chapter to make up for it, hopefully! 
> 
> A small note on this chapter: for those of you who have read Pride & Prejudice, it always used to confuse my younger self (I first read P&P as a teenager) that Jane Austen referred to Mr Wickham's company of soldiers as "the —shire militia" without simply naming the English county she meant (Devonshire? Worcestershire? Cheshire? Wiltshire? Hertfordshire itself? Or even Derbyshire? Who knows?), or just making one up. Of course, that might have just been the novel-writing conventions of her day, but since we'll never ever know which "—shire" she meant to avoid confusion, I thought I would gently poke fun at it in this chapter :-D Well, *I* laughed at my chapter ending, even if no-one else does XD

With Tamlen engaging the carriage for his business with the mirror, Merrill and Mahariel had no choice but to attend the Hawke Estate dinner party on horseback. Or, more accurately, riding side-saddle on the backs of white halla; for upper-class elven families tended to prefer these ancient animal companions – noble beasts of history that had borne many an elven knight into battle – for their grace, elegance and strength. The intricately carved horns of a halla were both a thing of beauty and a way to repel potential attackers, and like all Dalish elves, Merrill revered the halla for it.

‘We shall certainly make an entrance this way,’ laughed Mahariel as the two of them rode side by side from the green of the Sundermount to Kirkwall’s paved Hightown, and Merrill couldn’t help laughing back. Riding in the city was a way to see and be seen, and in Merrill’s opinion there was none so majestic as riding a beautiful halla as a way to be seen.

If only there was someone worth seeing who she could be seen by…

‘I expect we shall be the only elves at the dinner party,’ Merrill eventually said. ‘I am not aware that the Hawkes have any other elven companions, unless they have somehow managed to ingratiate themselves with Hahren Paivel and the rest of our Sabrae cousins?’

‘I expect we shall be the only ones,’ Mahariel replied, before turning to Merrill with a twinkle in her eye. ‘I’m afraid any further dances with the enigmatic Mr Pol may have to wait, my fair young cousin.’

Merrill coloured slightly, but attempted to reply in as neutral a tone as she could. ‘I expect they _shall_ have to wait.’

‘I’m sure we shall all meet again soon. Perhaps at their own residence – I remember Hahren Paivel talking about inviting us all to pay a visit, for it _has_ been a while.’

‘Oh! that would be nice, wouldn’t it? And it _has_ been a while. I talked so little to them at the ball; an opportunity to meet them again would be welcome.’

‘Well, you had your new friends to talk to,’ Mahariel observed, ‘and it was perfectly understandable. I look forward to making the acquaintance of the Hawke sisters properly.’

‘I’m sure you shall, Mahariel. Thank you, again, for agreeing to chaperone me today. I… appreciate it more than I can say.’

Mahariel smiled, and assured Merrill she was looking forward to the chance to visit the estate, and the two women rode on together in good humour. The stares of the Hightown nobles could not deter either of them, and they dismounted without incident at the Hawke Estate – which was more like a house in town rather than the sprawling country manor the name might suggest, but just as vast and grand in its own way.

The interior was certainly swoonworthy, and Mahariel was appropriately admiring of the Hawke Estate’s grand décor. Warm colours and plush furnishings were very much in evidence, as were chandeliers so stately that Merrill half-wondered what it would be like to swing off them if she were able to jump up and reach.

Greeting the guests was Lady Leandra, proud and resplendent in her dress, of rich duchesse satin that befitted her place in society – gold, late autumn gold; her dress outshone even the jewellery the other noble women were draped in, and the other women in white were mere pale imitations of the woman who was hosting such an elegant dinner.

The theme of the dinner party was that of the current season; and as Mahariel was a fiery redhead, with rich auburn hair that already suited the autumnal theme and colours of the dinner party, it had been up to Merrill, without having any suitably-coloured attire available, to find something for herself that befit the theme. In the end, Merrill wore a small red maple leaf that she had found around Sundermount and fashioned into a simple hairpiece; and Merrill hoped that it would be acceptable enough for what was surely likely to be a grand occasion.

‘Miss Merrill!’ A beaming Miss Hawke hastened over to greet her. ‘How lovely to see you both! I am so glad you’ve come. Will you introduce me to your friend?’

‘Of course! This is my cousin Tamlen’s wife, Mrs Mahariel Sabrae; she agreed to chaperone me.’

‘How do you do?’ Mahariel inquired with a polite curtsey; Miss Hawke returned the same. ‘I hope you do not mind me accompanying Merrill; I expressed a wish of seeing your estate, for I heard it was very fine, and I can certainly confirm it has lived up to every high expectation.’

Miss Hawke smiled; and Merrill was pleased to see the women seemed to approve of each other so far. ‘Thank you, that’s kind of you. I hope you enjoy the dinner as much as we are anxious for you to. Come, I would like you to meet my younger sister Bethany; my brother Carver is also around somewhere, I am sure…’

As Merrill and Mahariel had arrived early and dinner had not yet commenced, they were free to admire their sumptuous surroundings and talk to Miss Bethany, who showed them around, and was as gracious a host as her mother but with an altogether more welcoming, less formally polite air. Guests were trickling in, all Hightown human nobility; the stringed quartet was playing beautiful music to match the richness of the setting; and while the two elven ladies drew some curious stares, Merrill was relieved that there was nothing more awkward than that. She suspected that Miss Hawke would not allow it, and took some comfort in that fact.

Miss Bethany enthusiastically answered Mahariel’s interested questions about the Estate and its interior décor, while Merrill trailed behind them in silence, listening both to Miss Bethany’s explanations and taking in her surroundings. Until they came across Sir Carver, standing aloof in a corner of the room, surrounded by the same two thin-faced ladies with Orlesian accents and haughty expressions, that Merrill had seen fawn over him before.

‘Oh! Miss Bethany,’ one of them called out, and their party was all forced to pay attention to the two giggling women, ‘your brother is _such_ a tease! Fifi and I have been asking when we shall see him give a ball at the Hawke Estate, for we would love to dance in this fine place and we said so; he declares he shall not have one if he can help it! We know he must be joking, of course! – he is such a fine dancer that he cannot possibly mean it. You will persuade him to name the date, won’t you?’

Sir Carver recoiled slightly, irritation etched on his features; and Merrill couldn’t help smiling to herself. Bethany however, decided it was wise not to engage.

‘I’m afraid it may not be wholly up to my brother, and depends on if the rest of our family desires a ball,’ she demurred. ‘But allow me to introduce Mrs Mahariel Sabrae, and Miss Merrill Alerion,’ Bethany continued, as both elven women curtseyed. ‘This is my brother, Sir Carver – he has met Miss Merrill already – and this is Miss Babette de Launcet and Miss Fifi de Launcet, daughters of the Comte and Comtesse de Launcet.’

Sir Carver looked surprised at the mention of Merrill – he clearly had not noticed her behind Mahariel until his sister indicated her – but he bowed a polite greeting anyway; while the de Launcet girls eyed Merrill up and down with great scorn, and did not curtsey at all. Merrill’s cheeks burned in indignation, and she wanted nothing more than a way to wipe the self-satisfied smirks off the de Launcet girls’ overly-powdered, heavily made-up faces.

But before any of them could respond, they were swiftly joined by two aristocratic men, and Sir Carver was obliged to introduce Viscount Marlowe Dumar and his son, the Honourable Saemus Dumar. The de Launcet girls’ attentions swiftly turned to fawning over the Dumars, despite the attempts of both men to talk to the Hawke twins; and Sir Carver was relieved to dispose of his female companions, for it gave him some liberty to observe Merrill properly.

Merrill wore her dark hair in a loose chignon, choosing to curl only the strands that hung down just in front of her pointed ears. A braid on either side of her head joined the elegant coil of hair at the back of her head, and even without any of the tight ringlets of current human women’s fashion, Carver thought she was stunning. Clad in a simple white cotton dress, she was the picture of innocence and purity; yet there was something about the expression of her fine eyes, so wide and so green, that belied a fierce intelligence that left him wanting to know more of her, to know all of her.

But before he could examine that thought too closely, Miss Hawke was marching over, looking so distressed that she commanded Carver’s entire attention and left no room for anything else.

‘There you are,’ she hissed at her siblings. ‘I was looking for you both. I need to speak with you, most urgently.’

‘Is there a problem?’ Bethany enquired.

Miss Hawke did not answer straight away. ‘You recall there was talk of the —shire militia coming to stay in Kirkwall for the winter?’

‘Mother asked us to invite them to dinner,’ Carver remembered. ‘You promised you would do so.’

Miss Hawke finally appeared to remember that they had company. ‘I beg you will excuse us,’ she told their audience with a curtsey, ‘but I must take my siblings aside for one moment. My apologies.’

The Dumars bowed their acquiescence, and moved to one side; the de Launcets and Mahariel courteously followed them, while Saemus Dumar tried to strike up a conversation with Mahariel, despite the interruptions of the de Launcets’ unsuccessful attempts to divert him. Merrill listened to them politely for a while, and then decided to seek out Miss Hawke – for she was concerned at Miss Hawke’s anxious appearance.

Furthermore, the de Launcets were so rude to her – Merrill was sure that Miss Fifi even tried to physically close her out of the group at some point – that Merrill was glad to leave. She was sorry to leave Mahariel with such awful women – perhaps they looked down on elves as much as every other human did – but the younger Dumar was engaging her in conversation about Dalish life and culture with such interest and kindness that Mahariel was glad to stay, and gave Merrill her blessing to mingle with whoever she chose.

Merrill soon caught up with the Hawke siblings; they had drifted towards the front door and were in earnest, furtive conversation.

‘I wish someone had explained which —shire militia they meant,’ Miss Hawke murmured, ‘and then perhaps this mix-up would not have taken place. How was _I_ to know which…’

Lady Leandra swanned by, the picture of superior and illustrious refinement, the perfect host for the perfect dinner party, casting a self-satisfied smile at her three children which they only just managed to return. Merrill frowned. What was that all about?

‘We can’t tell Mother,’ Sir Carver was insisting. ‘We need to order one of the servants to turn them away before they come up the garden path.’

‘I think they’re already on their way.’ Miss Hawke sounded dismayed. ‘It’s only a small company of soldiers, at least.’

‘But you know Mother,’ whispered Miss Bethany. ‘One will already be too much. We had one near Lothering, remember? Do you recall how much havoc he caused?’

A commotion at the front door caused them all to turn at once. Lady Leandra stood in wide-eyed and open-mouthed horror with a hand clutching her elegant bosom as several female guests fainted in shock; and Sir Carver rushed over to support his mother, lest Lady Leandra do the same.

All eyes were fixed on the figure of a large Qunari man, glowering in the doorway beneath some ornate gold-decorated horns, clad in the red military uniform of his people, with what appeared to be a horde of ferocious Qunari soldiers behind him.

‘ _Shanedan_ ,’ boomed the scowling Qunari, as he surveyed the humans in front of him with disdain. ‘I am the Arishok. And these are my men.’


	14. Chapter 14

Mr Varric Tethras was in his element. Attendance at the finest parties in Kirkwall was _de rigueur_ for his role as the Master of Ceremonies; the Hawke family dinner party was no exception, and so far, Mr Tethras was thoroughly enjoying all the benefits that his acquaintance with one of the most prestigious families in Kirkwall bestowed upon him.

Furthermore, as the man in charge of the _Kirkwall Times_ , it was imperative he attend what promised to be the dinner party of the season; it was business as well as pleasure. String quartet melodies sweetened the air, while the tinkle of ladies’ titters and the rich sound of male laughter accompanied the elegant music, and Mr Tethras was having as good a time as any guest, recanting his tales with such gusto he could not fail to draw an interested audience – all with an accent which clearly distinguished him as being from the New World. 

But then a hush seemed to fall over the party, and the whispers started to rise; and Mr Tethras instinctively knew that something had gone very, very wrong. Murmured accusations of unwanted guests seemed to now fill the room; even the string quartet’s excellent playing could not mollify the sour atmosphere; and Mr Tethras made his way to the entrance hall, where all heads were now facing.

The shocked silence at the sight of the enormous grey Arishok at the entrance of the Hawke Estate was suddenly broken by the nervous laughter of Miss Hawke. As the Arishok turned, one of his horns scuffed the top of the doorframe, chipping the gold paint; and Lady Leandra winced.

‘Mr Arishok,’ Miss Hawke greeted him, curtseying in such an ungainly manner that Mr Tethras was worried that his friend was half-hysterical with horror, and would soon need his assistance.

‘Arishok,’ the hulking Qunari in the doorway corrected her with a frown.

‘Arishok,’ Miss Hawke repeated, as composedly as she could. ‘I – I have to concede that we were not expecting you or your men; we understood a different sort of —shire militia were in town.’

‘We were invited,’ growled the Arishok; behind him his red-clad men glared so ferociously that Mr Tethras started to worry the Qunari would declare war on them all then and there.

Mr Tethras stepped forward. There was nothing for it; he had to assist his friends. ‘Now, come on,’ he smiled, spreading his arms out in a conciliatory manner, ‘Arishok, as… _pleased_ … as we all are to see you here, we must confess our immense surprise. Surely there has been some mistake?’

The Arishok looked down at him with a glare. ‘No.’

It was impressive, Varric surmised, that the Arishok still managed to command the attention of everyone gathered in the hallway, considering several ladies had fainted in shock and were being helped by various gentlemen and servants; but it was also becoming clear that the Arishok and his men had no intention of leaving.

There was very little any of them could do, except admit them to the dinner party. One of the Arishok’s men stepped forward with the invitation Miss Hawke had issued to the militia’s officers on behalf of her mother; and while it was clear to everyone present that a mix-up had happened, Varric decided that, in light of an invitation that made it unclear which —shire militia had been extended a general invitation to, it would be rude to turn the Qunari soldiers away now that they were here.

He had to give credit to the string quartet, Varric thought to himself; even as the manor’s guests fell silent, and the lords and ladies parted to let the towering Qunari through, they kept dutifully playing their instruments as if nothing had happened. It rather reminded him of the band at The Hanged Man public house – many a brawl had broken out there, but the band would always faithfully (and cheerfully) carry on regardless.

After a while, the guests themselves started to recover; the ladies who had fainted at the sight of the Arishok complained of headaches upon convalescence, and Lady Leandra was all embarrassed apology. Miss Hawke, looking similarly mortified, promised most fervently that she would make it up to them properly at a later date. If nothing else, Varric suspected, the evening’s turn would provide much gossip to entertain Hightown for weeks to come – and if there was anything the nobles of Hightown loved, it was a good gossip.

Viscount Dumar seemed most anxious to leave, upon the arrival of the Qunari soldiers; but his son peered at the muscular grey horned men with such interest that Mr Tethras was honour-bound to introduce The Honourable Saemus Dumar to them. The viscount eventually managed to extricate himself from their company, but he could not persuade his son to quit the room in similar fashion, for the young man was now deep in conversation with a Qunari soldier named Ashaad, and was so fascinated by him that he insisted upon staying.

The de Launcet sisters, however, were bitterly disappointed they could converse no more with either the wealthy and widowed viscount, or his handsome (and most eligible!) son; and wandered in search of other marriageable upper-class batchelors to talk to. However, they were not long able to do so, for the Hawkes’ servant, Duncan, arrived to announce that dinner was served, and it was time for the procession into the Hawke’s opulent dining room in all its splendour.

For Merrill, this was her first human dinner party; and far from being the gathering of between ten to fourteen people she’d been taught to expect, this was far bigger and grander than she could ever have thought – and it was overwhelming. She marvelled at the sheer number of people at the Hawke dinner party; there were certainly more than fifteen, and possibly even more than thirty – a fair testament, it seemed, to the wealth of the family that they were able to host such a grandiose affair.

The thought made Merrill even more anxious than she had been already:  _I’m so nervous!_ she had confided in Mahariel earlier. _What if I do something wrong and embarrass us? I always do something wrong. I don’t know anything about human manners! What if I use the wrong fork? And then accidentally stab someone with it? That sounds like the sort of thing that would happen to me_. Mahariel had laughingly reassured Merrill that she would be fine; but now, seeing the throng of people that were invited, Merrill started to worry all over again.

She could not help wondering where Captain Isabela was; and judging by the anxious glances around the room from Miss Hawke, she wondered if her friend were thinking the same. Her sister Bethany wore amber in her hair, all sunny smiles despite the current situation of the party, receiving the Qunari as politely as if they were always meant to be there – while Lady Leandra’s smile was tight and brittle as she took her place at the head of the long dining table.

Merrill was glad that she was not seated anywhere near Lady Leandra, but wondered if being so close to Sir Carver’s end of the table were any better. At least, she reasoned, she was not forced to sit directly next to him – that distinction went to the highest-ranking noblewoman in the room that was not his mother, seated on his right. The Arishok, however, seemed most displeased at where he was seated, and Merrill noted with some amusement that he seemed to be outdoing Sir Carver in both size and surly, thunderous expressions.

As she was the lady seated on the Arishok’s right, however, human etiquette dictated (if Merrill had remembered it correctly) that he had to start conversing with her. So Merrill waited.

And waited.

The Arishok, however, did not seem as if he were about to talk to anyone any time soon. Merrill dutifully ate her soup – always the first course at a fancy dinner party, as she was taught; and Merrill even remembered to sip it daintily from the side of her spoon as the Keeper had always drilled into her – but the Arishok knit his brows in irritation at how tiny the spoon was in his enormous grey hands; and after a few failed attempts to eat with it, gave up entirely, raised the bowl to his mouth, and drained the entire basin in one go.—Many stared.—Many smiled. No one, however, dared comment.

Merrill breathed a huge sigh of relief. At least if _she_ ever forgot the dinner party rules Marethari had taught her with so much frustration over the years, she surely couldn’t do worse tonight than the Arishok had.

‘So,’ Merrill started, determined not to sit ignored for the entire evening, ‘Arishok. Is this your first human dinner party?’

‘Indeed,’ the Arishok replied, fixing her with a scowl so grumpy Merrill thought he could rival Sir Carver and win. ‘We Qunari do not venture outside our own, often. For the Qunari to sally forth among _bas_ is usually due to war.’  

Merrill was not sure what to say to that, so she settled upon: ‘Well, this time there should be no cause for that! And you’ve left your weapons home.’

‘We have but one weapon,’ he returned, gruffly. ‘The certainty of the Qun. It cannot be used against us.’

‘Well, of course not,’ observed Merrill. ‘Certainty’s not pointy enough to make a good weapon.’

Sir Carver snorted, and Merrill’s eyes flicked to him; only then did she realise he had been listening, and the small smirk on his face made her flush red in anger. The Arishok’s sneer of scornful fury stopped her from speaking further; and Merrill, humiliated, bowed her head over her soup and said no more. If she had known that Sir Carver had assumed she was mocking the Arishok, she might have felt differently; but now, all Merrill felt was embarrassment that two scarily large and powerful men disdained her over what they must have perceived as her stupidity.

If only Mahariel were nearby. Merrill ate the rest of her soup course in silence, helped herself to a little of the oyster pâté and vegetables; and hoped the second and third courses would arrive swiftly so she could quit the room in shame as soon as possible. She chanced a glance at Mahariel, who seemed to be holding herself well among the nobles she was seated, far down the table; and Merrill wished she could be as serene and composed as her older cousin-in-law was.

The second course arrived – a large joint of roasted venison to be carved, savoury jellies and salads and even some sweets – and as others around them started to engage the Arishok and herself in polite conversation, Merrill began to revive. She decided to stick to topics where she could not go wrong, pronouncing the food as excellent – which drew approval and agreement from the human nobles around her, and an acknowledgement of thanks from Sir Carver – and expressing relief that the weather remained fair while journeying from Sundermount. The Arishok spoke no more to her; but Viscount Dumar’s son enquired about the Qunari militia, and the meaning of the white symbols on the shoulders of the Arishok’s red uniform – and before long, the topic soon turned to a recent battle the Arishok’s men had fought, using terms and language which left Merrill very confused.

‘They say we were careless with our trap, that this was our fault,’ the Arishok growled, tiny fork engulfed in his massive hand; while the nobles around him listened politely, looking as if they regretted sitting there. ‘But even without the _saar-qamek_ , there would have been death. This elf was determined to lay blame at our feet.’

It was no use, Merrill thought; she could not understand a thing.

‘But your feet didn’t do anything wrong!’ she interjected. ‘Did they?’

The Arishok turned on her with a glower of such ferociousness that Merrill quailed in her seat; fortunately, another inquiry from Saemus Dumar about Qunari culture soon roused his attention. Merrill said no more, but listened quietly to the conversation around her, while becoming increasingly aware how frequently Sir Carver’s eyes were on her.

For Merrill, it was hard to determine why his gaze returned so often to her general direction. He did look at the Arishok often, it was true; but that was with an expression of indignation, of annoyed contempt; and though his expression when watching _her_ was a composed and steady gravity, Merrill could only presume that perhaps he was examining her for anything further he could perceive at fault. She decided she would not give him the satisfaction; and remained silent for the rest of the dinner.    


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes on the chapter: 
> 
> 1) The "New World", where Varric is from, is of course North America. I think Varric's voice actor has a New York accent...? So I decided to transpose DA2 canon to Regency England canon. 
> 
> 2) Men like Varric and Saemus Dumar would usually have been referred to by their surnames ("Tethras" and "Dumar"), but I was too lazy to adhere so strictly to the conventions here. Sorry. 
> 
> 3) Venison is deer meat. Apparently in the USA it can also include elks and antelopes...? but in the UK it is very much deer meat (we don't have elks and antelopes over here). 
> 
> 4) Regency dinner parties were generally no more than 10 to 14 people (and often fewer), so it's a testament of how rich the Hawkes are (and how determined Leandra is to show off) that they have invited so many more people than that to a mere dinner party (rather than a ball). 
> 
> 5) Some of the dialogue has been taken directly from the DA2 game itself. Merrill's responses to the Arishok, for instance, are both canon taken from the DA2 game, and I adapted this hilarious "Mark of the Assassin" dialogue Merrill has with Sebastian Vael in that DLC:  
>  **Merrill:** I'm so nervous! What if I do something wrong and embarrass us? I always do something wrong.   
> **Sebastian:** You'll be fine, Merrill.   
> **Merrill:** But I don't know anything about human manners! What if I use the wrong fork? And then accidentally stab someone with it. That sounds like the sort of thing that would happen to me.   
> **Sebastian:** Just act annoyed that they bled on your dress. Nobody will even notice. 
> 
> 6) Some of my research for Regency dinner parties and etiquette contradicted each other, so I left out bits like what the procession to the dining room might have looked like (this differed depending on whether you were at the beginning or near the end of the Regency Era anyway); but, that aside, the main sources I referred to for this chapter - aside from Jane Austen's books themselves, of course! - were these:  
>  _https://www.janeausten.co.uk/regency-dinner-parties-and-etiquette/_  
>  _https://kayedacus.com/2009/06/25/ransomes-honor-a-regency-dinner-party/_  
>  _http://fangswandsandfairydust.com/2016/05/comes-1st.html_  
>  _https://janeaustensworld.wordpress.com/2009/11/26/family-dinners-regency-style/_


	15. Chapter 15

If the second course was bad, the dessert course was a disaster. The Qunari lack of refinement over the dinner-table provoked amusement and consternation in equal measure; and Merrill, seated next to the man-mountain that was the Arishok, spent most of her dining experience trying not to receive an elbow in her face – for the Arishok was too large, and the seating arrangement too small, for his person to eat at the hosts’ table in comfort, and he encroached upon much of her space. If ever there was any more evidence that the Hawkes had anticipated a _human_ complement of soldiers at the table, rather than a Qunari one, this had to be it.  

Despite herself, Merrill could not help feeling some sympathy for the predicament the Qunari were in. Lady Leandra had almost died of mortification when the Arishok raised the soup bowl to his mouth; and her own good breeding only _just_ prevented her from loudly exclaiming in horror. Her guests, however, were not so delicate; and when Ashaad appeared not to know which cutlery to use, the Comtesse de Launcet visibly and audibly shuddered. Meanwhile, her daughters laughingly remarked on Ashaad’s table manners so loudly that even Miss Bethany could not keep her countenance, and shot them a look, but to no avail.     

Once the dessert course was over, the ladies repaired to the drawing room for tea, and Merrill was glad to rejoin Mahariel away from both human and Qunari menfolk. Mahariel met her with a look of such serene complacency that there could be no doubt to Merrill her companion was enjoying herself, and she rejoiced in it. They passed a pleasant few minutes in conversation and sipping tea, and observing the human noblewomen around them. The Comtesse de Launcet was loudly complaining to anyone who would listen – ‘Oh! Ze Qunari! Zey are so _foul_ !’ – and while there were gentle murmurs of accord from the other noblewomen in the room, many of them looked uncomfortable at the idea of raising such a topic in front of the hosts.

‘I can only apologise again, Dulci, most profusely,’ Lady Leandra told the Comtesse, as she served her a cup of tea. ‘I daresay there was some confusion in who we invited, for we believed the —shire militia to be _human_ soldiers, not Qunari ones. Evidently we were misinformed.’

‘It is an easy mistake to make, Lady Leandra,’ another noblewoman tried to console her, while most of the room nodded their agreement. ‘Qunari aside, we have fine enough company tonight that you need not worry.’

‘Do not fret, Mama,’ cried Miss Fifi de Launcet, ‘it is worth our attending, for there are many eligible _beaux_ here tonight. You should have flirted with ze Qunari, Babette – they’re your best hope to avoid dying an old maid.’

‘You are one to talk!’ Miss Babette snapped at her sister. ‘Strumpet!’

‘Harridan!’

‘Girls!’ The Comtesse placed herself between her daughters, looking as embarrassed as the rest of the room. ‘Hush!’

Merrill was relieved when Miss Hawke and Miss Bethany appeared, albeit concerned that Miss Hawke appeared as anxious after the dinner as before it. She could only suppose it was due to the Qunari, and resolved to discuss other subjects when Miss Hawke made her way over to them, while Miss Bethany took over the duty of serving tea from her mother. Miss Hawke smiled at the sincere compliments Merrill and Mahariel gave on the excellent dinner. However, at Merrill’s polite inquiry as to Captain Isabela’s whereabouts, a slight crease appeared between Miss Hawke’s brows.

‘I do not know where the Captain is,’ Miss Hawke replied. ‘She said she would come. I have just had word from a servant that she sends her apologies, but she has been detained on some errand or other, and will visit us in a day or two.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said. ‘That’s unfortunate. When did you receive this message?’

‘At the end of dinner. I apologise that we were not here just now – I took Bethany to one side to tell her.’

‘You ’ave ze _most_ interesting friends, Miss Hawke,’ called Miss Fifi across the room. ‘First the lady Captain, and now Miss Alerion and Mrs Sabrae. It is so _unusual_ to meet elven gentry! – I imagine there are not many about. Are you much accomplished, Miss Merrill? Respectable human ladies are expected to have a thorough knowledge of music, singing, drawing, dancing, and modern languages, and I cannot help wondering if elves are held to the same standard.’

‘I believe we are,’ Merrill answered, despite feeling Miss Fifi’s impertinence. ‘I was certainly taught all of those, though I cannot call myself a great proficient – certainly my skills on the lute could use improvement. But we are taught to read, and paint, and embroider just as you are; as well as singing and dancing, and command of at least one modern language.’  

‘So which foreign languages were you taught?’ enquired Lady Leandra politely. ‘Orlesian, Tevene…?’

‘Um, no,’ Merrill stammered. ‘Elvish, actually.’ 

The de Launcet girls tittered, while their mother hissed at them to not ‘cause a scene again’; leaving Miss Hawke to declare firmly that she thought Elvish was as valid a modern foreign language as any. This drew animated conversation from several other ladies in the room about learning more than one language, while one expressed a wish of understanding the elven language better so that she knew what her servants were saying sometimes. Miss Hawke frowned; this was not at all where she had been hoping the conversation would lead – she had been hoping to put it to an end – while Merrill exchanged a look with Mahariel; but they were spared any further awkwardness on that front by the entrance of the men, reminding them of the more pressing awkwardness of the evening.

The grave expressions upon every male face told them just how well – or how badly – the traditional after-dinner separation of the sexes had gone, with the human men being forced to remain with the Qunari and _vice versa_. If the conversation had been anything like during the meal – where the Arishok had talked of death and war and explosives to a reluctant crowd – it was probably only to be anticipated.

Only Saemus Dumar looked somewhat composed, as he walked in with Ashaad and the Arishok and his terrified-looking father; but Miss Hawke took pity on him anyway. ‘I beg you will excuse me,’ she told Merrill and Mahariel in a low voice, ‘but I believe I must rescue the viscount’s son; he is a polite and generous young man, but such a situation must be awkward for both him and his father. The viscount certainly looks uncomfortable.’

‘No need,’ Mahariel told her. ‘They appear to be heading our way.’

Mahariel was right; the viscount was marching over to them, desperation on his face; and at the sight of his father moving towards Miss Hawke, Saemus Dumar indicated to Ashaad and the Arishok that they should follow. There was, therefore, no need to rescue the viscount’s son: Merrill noted he looked perfectly at ease in the company of the Qunari.

The three women stood and curtseyed, while Miss Hawke made the necessary introductions; meanwhile the viscount appeared relieved to talk to someone who was not a Qunari. Sir Carver joined his sister, a look of concern on his features; and the presence of both Sir Carver and the Dumar men caused the de Launcet girls to walk over and attend their conversation, regardless of their feelings on either the Qunari or elves. The Arishok bowed politely to Miss Hawke, and initially regarded her with some hostility; but Merrill was quite sure Miss Hawke would win him over – after all, Marian was beautiful and clever, charming and cunning – and she was right: before long Saemus Dumar’s baritone laughter rang out around the room, and even the Arishok appeared to thaw.

In vain did the de Launcet sisters try to talk to the young Dumar, who appeared far more interested in his Qunari companions than anyone else; and in vain did they try to talk to Sir Carver, who appeared to have no interest in talking to anyone. Once again, Merrill noticed, his eyes were on her when he was not looking at the Arishok in suspicion and distaste; but the Arishok’s attention was on Miss Hawke, who did not seem to notice anything amiss, as she cheerfully carried on entertaining them.

The party ended in good spirits, as the nobles rallied tolerably well; even if many of them did not stay much longer. Merrill soon found herself in another part of the room, in conversation with Miss Bethany and being introduced to the delightful Mr Tethras, and could not help giggling at the dwarf’s amusing stories. Sir Carver loomed nearby, saying nothing, while Merrill tried to ignore him; and as the gathering dwindled, Merrill and Mahariel found, to their surprise, that they were one of the last people to leave. Before the de Launcets made their exit, Miss Babette tried again to persuade Sir Carver to give a ball, with much fluttering of eyelashes.

‘If you should give a ball,’ Saemus Dumar said at once, ‘I hope you shall also extend the invitation to our new acquaintances. I personally believe the Qunari made a fine addition to the party tonight; I should be sorry to lose the pleasure of knowing them.’

‘Saemus,’ his father protested, weakly, ‘I do not see that it is necessary to—’

‘I can answer for my men,’ interrupted the Arishok, ‘as the Qun dictates we accept any hospitality extended to us in friendship by _bas_. We therefore accept your offer of a ball.’

Lady Leandra looked as if she was about to scream; while the Comte and Comtesse de Launcet looked as if they abhorred this development as much as their daughters did. As the Dumars were one of Kirkwall’s most prominent and powerful families, however, it was very difficult to argue with whomever they had decided to admit as an acquaintance.

‘Then it is settled,’ Saemus Dumar said in his deep voice, with a swift glance at Ashaad, ‘we will see you at the next ball, I hope. Perhaps Miss Hawke can do the honours again.’

‘I will depend upon it,’ the Arishok growled, seemingly oblivious to the horror on every face remaining in the room. ‘But now it is time to take our leave.’ He bowed to Miss Hawke, and Miss Hawke only. ‘ _Panahedan_ , Miss Hawke. I do not hope you die.’

He wheeled around to exit the room, and in turn caught Mahariel, standing near the door. The force took the poor elven woman by surprise and knocked her against the wall hard, and she slumped to the ground, twisting her ankle as she fell.

Merrill cried out; the Hawke siblings rushed forward; but the servant Duncan got to her first, and he picked her up in his arms, and laid her delicate frame on the couch. Merrill flew to Mahariel’s side, and sank to her knees in distress; Duncan spoke to Mahariel’s prone form as he bent over her, but in more soothing tones. Mahariel came round from her dazed state quickly enough, but she appeared to be in a great deal of pain.

‘Sister,’ Merrill heard Sir Carver say, his voice curt, ‘see our guests out. Bethany, attend to Mother. And you, Bodahn,’ he ordered, to a middle-aged dwarven servant who had just come into the room, ‘Mrs Sabrae will need a doctor to inspect her. Get Anders.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there we are, ending the chapter on the "Get Anders" fandom meme XD 
> 
> If you think I've adapted the de Launcet women's dialogue from the "Mark of the Assassin" DLC from DA2, you'd be absolutely right - you can find it all on YouTube if you search for "Dulci de Launcet", or search my blog tag for her on my Tumblr blog (where I posted up the videos and my notes on the De Launcet family to use in the chapter).


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gosh, sometimes it is SO HARD to write these characters in Regency English-style language, especially as in canon / in the Dragon Age 2 game, their way of speaking is much more modern! As a result, I am mixing up both styles but still trying to keep as much of a Regency feel as possible. On the plus side, writing in Regency English means I get to include all the (sometimes obscure) vocabulary that I know but can't really put in other fanfics because it would look pretentious XD
> 
>  **Couple of notes on the chapter:**  
>  1) Mahariel calls Fenarel "Brother" at one point, even though he is technically her brother-in-law. This seems to be very much the conventions of the time, as per Jane Austen's novels - characters address brothers-in-law as "Brother" and sisters-in-law as "Sister" in a way that they definitely don't do now. I have obviously kept the Regency convention here. 
> 
> 2) I am not sure what the Regency-era treatment for sprained ankles would be, so I decided to write in the modern-day treatment (i.e. ice on an ankle). However, only the very very rich had access to ice in those days - big blocks of ice imported from Scandinavia and stored in special outhouses outside - so let's just assume the Hawkes are rich enough to afford such a thing. Besides which, I headcanon this dinner takes place in late autumn anyway, so the weather is not exactly warm at this point. 
> 
> 3) As for the whole "tea and biscuits" thing - biscuits in the UK are COMPLETELY DIFFERENT from what biscuits are in the USA, both back in Regency England and in modern-day Britain! In the UK, biscuits are a kind of small, hard cookie (at least, that's the closest explanation I can think of), whereas American-style biscuits are much more like what we in the UK would call scones. This is an approximation, of course, as British biscuits aren't _exactly_ like American cookies, even hard ones; but I am not aware that you can get British biscuits in the USA anyway. (At least, I didn't see any when I was in New York or Chicago...) 
> 
> This link, however, should give you some idea of what biscuits in Regency-era England were like, as well as a recipe if anyone is interested in making some! <https://austenauthors.net/have-you-had-your-biscuit-today/>
> 
> \----------

It took a couple of seconds for Mahariel to register what had happened, as it had all happened so fast; but once she was in full possession of her senses her concern was for her ankle, for she had sprained it so badly she could not stand at all – and certainly would not be able to ride the halla back to Sundermount with Merrill. Duncan, the Hawkes’ trusty servant, assured her that Sir Carver had sent one of the servants to get a doctor, to check she had not broken it, and departed for the kitchen to fetch a cold compress while they waited. Miss Hawke returned to the room, having disposed of the remaining guests, looking pale and worried.

‘The Arishok wanted me to pass on his sincerest apologies,’ Miss Hawke said, ‘and Bodahn is on his way to fetch Doctor Anders. I would like to apologise, Mrs Sabrae, for the evening you have had, and apologise that it is unlikely you will be able to return to Sundermount tonight. I am afraid you will need to stay overnight.’

‘That is kind of you,’ Mahariel said, wincing. ‘If the doctor arrives soon, we can see what he says.’

‘I insist upon you staying,’ Sir Carver said, as Duncan came back in the room with ice, which Mahariel promptly put on her ankle (but still careful, Merrill noted, to conceal the ankle from their company as best as she could). ‘It is no trouble at all, we certainly have enough spare guest rooms; and it is the least we can do after the unfortunate events of this evening. We are truly sorry for what happened, and we would like to make it up to you.’  

‘What should _I_ do?’ Merrill asked, anxiously. ‘I cannot go home without a chaperone, and our halla are here.’

‘I would like Merrill to stay with me,’ Mahariel said at once, ‘if it is at all possible, and if our hosts do not mind it. My husband Tamlen is away on business, and will not be fetched in time.’

‘Of course Miss Merrill can stay,’ Miss Bethany said. ‘We will be delighted to be of service.’  

‘Thank you,’ Merrill said, while Sir Carver looked as if he were about to say something and thought better of it. ‘I – I’m afraid I do not have a change of clothes, though.’

Lady Leandra finally spoke, having recovered enough from the evening to resume her role as host, as Miss Hawke re-entered the room, having disposed of the remaining guests. ‘That can be arranged,’ Lady Leandra answered. ‘Duncan, would you be so kind as to travel to Sundermount and inform the Sabraes of what has happened? Miss Alerion and Mrs Sabrae will both need some spare clothes brought back. You may use the carriage.’

‘I feel that I must go with Duncan,’ Miss Hawke said. ‘The twins can stay here with you, Mother. The very least I can do is convey our apologies in person; for it is through my mistake that the Qunari were here, and that this accident happened.’

Her mother protested; Duncan assured her that he would be perfectly fine to travel. Merrill wondered how Keeper Marethari would take the news; Fenarel would be unhappy, she knew, and would probably insist on coming to see them for himself.

They did not have to wait long before the doctor appeared. Doctor Anders was a tall, blond, handsome but tired-looking man – dressed in a teal coat with a feathered collar, a watch fob on a gold chain, and a brown waistcoat with matching trousers over black boots – and Merrill felt sorry for him that he had been called out to a patient so late. Miss Hawke had assured her and Mahariel again that it would be no trouble, that Anders was the best healer around, and that nothing gave him more pleasure than to be of assistance – although his services were often so popular she was sometimes concerned that he never got time to eat.

‘Miss Hawke,’ he greeted her with a wan smile as he walked into the room; and at the sight of him, the family visibly relaxed.  

‘Anders,’ Miss Hawke responded. ‘I’m sorry to trouble you at this hour. We are so glad you are here, and much indebted to you.’

Despite how exhausted he looked, Anders waved away her concern. ‘No need. It’s my pleasure to help. Where is the patient?’

Sir Carver indicated Mahariel reclining on the couch, and Anders bent over and got to work, examining her with his careful hands, asking her questions in soothing tones and producing some lotion from his case that he said might be healing. Merrill waited anxiously to one side, waiting for the good doctor’s assessment.

‘Nothing broken, fortunately,’ was Anders’s eventual pronouncement. ‘Just a nasty sprain, so you’ll need to rest it for a few days; maybe even a week at worst. A cold compress or ice applied to the injury will help, but you must not move your ankle more than is absolutely imperative until it is healed; so plenty of bed-rest and being confined to one room will be necessary, I’m afraid.’

‘We can certainly arrange for that,’ Lady Leandra said. ‘We have plenty of spare rooms for guests, including one on this floor, so that you need not ascend the stairs. I shall instruct the servants to make up a room for Mrs Sabrae, and a separate one for Miss Merrill if she desires it.’

‘Thank you, Mother,’ Miss Hawke answered, as Lady Leandra left the room. ‘And Anders, thank you so much again. Please do stay and take tea with us before you take your leave. It is the very least any of us can do for you.’

Merrill thought she heard Sir Carver grumble under her breath at the doctor’s invitation to stay; but Anders acquiesced readily enough, and it wasn’t long before a steaming pot of tea was brought out again and poured, along with whatever biscuits remained undevoured by the evening’s guests, for Anders. Mahariel certainly seemed to appreciate a nice, hot cup of tea with sugar and milk; as did the good doctor himself. Sir Carver did not talk much – it almost seemed to Merrill as if he was not on as friendly terms with Anders as his sisters were, even though it was clear that the family respected the man’s talents – but his sisters provided much of the conversation while Anders acquainted them all with his recent work on improving the rights of the disadvantaged; and before long there was there was the noise of activity at the front entrance that indicated that the servant Duncan had returned in the carriage – with Marethari and Fenarel in tow.

Merrill felt her anxiety start to rise – she hoped Keeper Marethari would not blame _her_ of all people for Mahariel’s accident; it was the sort of thing she was afraid the Keeper would do – but any unease she felt was soon alleviated by Marethari’s unexpectedly calm air, though Fenarel seemed more agitated. He strode into the room, made the necessary niceties, bowed to the Miss Hawkes, and then proceeded to quiz Mahariel on what exactly had happened and how she felt, as if to assure himself that the _shemlen_ had not been more responsible or caused her more harm than they actually had done.

Sir Carver apologised again, and assured them that they would do all they could for Mahariel, while Anders reiterated his recommendation that plenty of rest was all the patient needed. Tea and biscuits were proffered, but the Sabraes would not stay long.

‘I thank you,’ Marethari told the Hawkes, ‘for all you are doing for Mahariel. We were not expecting such hospitality or concern, but we are grateful.’

Miss Hawke waved her away. ‘It is our responsibility. It was through our mistake that Mahariel’s injury happened, and it is our duty to take care of our friends and guests. We are glad for her and Merrill to stay and recuperate, although we are deeply sorry, again, that such a circumstance has occurred.’

‘I think Mahariel should come home,’ Fenarel declared. ‘Tamlen would be deeply unhappy if _we_ do not take care of her.’

‘You are very kind, Brother,’ Mahariel replied, ‘but I should be well here. Merrill will be staying, and helping to take care of me. Our hosts have been most gracious. I trust Duncan gave you the necessary details about my condition?’  

‘He seemed honourable, and his care for your safety speaks well of him,’ Marethari agreed. ‘I trust my judgement.’

Mahariel nodded. ‘Thank you. It is settled; I shall remain here, and Merrill will stay with me. Fenarel, please assure Tamlen that he need not worry, or hasten back home from business any faster than is required.’

Fenarel looked resigned.

‘I promise I will take care of Mahariel,’ Merrill was anxious to reassure her cousin. ‘She has had a terrible shock, and is a great deal too ill to be moved; but I will be here to keep an eye on her.’

‘You do look quite pale, now that Merrill mentions it,’ Fenarel conceded, albeit reluctantly, ‘and if you really cannot be removed from here, perhaps it is best that you stay – at least for the night. In any case, perhaps we should depart. It is getting late.’  

After the appropriate bows and curtseys were made, the evening ended with Marethari and Fenarel departing for Sundermount, on the backs of the halla that Merrill and Mahariel had ridden to the party in the first place. Mahariel was helped to the spare guest room that the Hawkes’ servants had made up for her – a clean and comfortable, spacious chamber that would ensure Mahariel would pass the next few days at the estate in pleasant comfort – while Merrill watched anxiously out of the window as her relatives departed.


	17. Chapter 17

Anders departed early the next morning, after the Hawkes offered to host him for the night in a guest room neighbouring Mahariel’s; but as the patient showed no deterioration in her condition overnight, both she and the good doctor decided he would no longer be needed for the duration of her recovery.

For the Hawkes, it was a relief to hear the invalid’s condition was not more serious – but privately Carver felt conflicted about the elven ladies’ stay, even if he would not dream of admitting it for fear of raising his sisters’ disapproval. He was indeed very sorry that Mahariel had been injured, and of course there was no question of allowing Merrill to go home without a chaperone, or of hearing of her removal if the patient requested her there – but the fact that Merrill would be staying under his roof for the next few days would sorely test him.

For Merrill, last night, had been so beautiful as to be ethereal; she even _sounded_ adorable when she so sweetly ridiculed the Arishok, whether by accident or design – and Carver was surprised at how engaged by her he seemed to be every time they met.

But, especially now Merrill was a firm friend of his sisters – Marian more so than Bethany, perhaps – this fascination he had, if he allowed it to develop, could be inconvenient at best, contemptible at worst; and it could make matters awkward between his sisters and their new friend. Plus, society was unlikely to approve of such an interest, between human and elf – and Lady Leandra had worked _so_ hard (and for so long) at re-acceptance into the Hightown set, that the last thing Carver wanted to do was cause his mother to be sneered at and shunned from all her aristocratic friends again – regardless of what he privately thought of such friends – and it was advisable for a man in his situation to marry for _connections_ , and therefore marry well.

Furthermore, if Bethany ever noticed how taken he was by Merrill whenever she was around, she might tell Marian, and he would never hear the end of her teasing – and _that_ , for Carver, was one of the biggest motivations of all for keeping even the slightest feelings of admiration to himself. Particularly for a trifling inclination that he was sure was not even worthy of notice or comment – providing he did not do something stupid while she was here. Miss Alerion _was_ pretty, it was true – but many girls were pretty, and Carver managed not to be so distracted every time they were around; he simply had to be more vigilant this time, that was all.

Vigilance, however, was not needed at the start of his day: only the Hawke family rose early, and Carver was able to take breakfast with his mother and sisters – whose minds were chiefly preoccupied with the horrors of the Qunari the night before.

‘I still cannot imagine what the Dumar boy was thinking,’ Lady Leandra repeated, for the second time that morning. ‘With Dulci de Launcet and her gossiping daughters, all of Hightown will soon know that we are to host a ball for the Qunari; and I do not recall us ever explicitly agreeing to one.’

‘We didn’t,’ Miss Hawke said. ‘That was all Saemus Dumar’s doing; to what end, I can only speculate.’

‘I wonder that the Arishok agreed,’ Bethany mused. ‘The Qunari do not seem particularly amiable to anyone who isn’t a Qunari. Remember that incident with Sten, back when we were living in Lothering?’

Lady Leandra shuddered: ‘That creature Sten was terrible enough, but a compound full of them?’

Miss Hawke poured her mother another cup of tea to soothe her nerves. ‘Well, hopefully if the Arishok brings the entire compound, they will not cause trouble. It will be trouble enough explaining why the Par Vollen-shire militia are attending in the first place.’

Lady Leandra looked even more apprehensive than she had done already.

‘Maybe I should join the Qun,’ Carver attempted to jest. ‘They’re warriors – they respect strength, determination – they have no family ties…’

‘Really?’ Bethany cried. ‘ _That’s_ the draw?’

At his twin’s face, Carver laughed. ‘Ha! Got you. I’m not joining the bloody Qun. But Uncle Gamlen… he’d fall for it. Hmm…’

‘Gamlen!’ Lady Leandra repeated, latching onto her son’s last thought so desperately she forgot to reproach him for crude language. ‘Now that you put me in mind of it, I wonder if I should invite Gamlen to the ball – we surely could not do worse than invite him if the Qunari are going to come.’

Miss Hawke was all astonishment. ‘Uncle Gamlen? At _our ball_? With the _Qunari_?’

‘I recall him expressing interest in Qunari cheeses – a gentleman apparently persuaded him to invest in some,’ Leandra answered, delicately sipping her cup of tea. ‘Perhaps we could tell him he could ask the Qunari for further advice; then surely we can rely on him to come.’

‘Mother, when have you relied on Uncle Gamlen for anything?’

Before Leandra could reply, Merrill was shown into the breakfast-parlour by Duncan, and the women all stood and curtseyed in greeting, while Carver bowed. After a few pleasantries were exchanged about how Merrill had passed the night – very comfortably, she replied; she had spent part of her morning with Mahariel and was pleased to report her cousin had not got worse overnight – they invited her to take breakfast with them.  

Merrill politely accepted, and sat down to tuck into the array of buttered rolls and meat and eggs in front of her. Pound cake was offered, and Merrill took a small slice out of curiosity more than anything else, for such an item was not something that was present at Dalish breakfast tables, as was the chocolate coffee that was then served.

For Merrill, she had never seen such a grand breakfast as this – the Sabraes’ breakfast tended to be a more casual affair, albeit with good hearty Dalish food to start the day and a very far cry from the gruel she grew up with in the alienage as a child – but cake was very much reserved for later in the day; sugar was expensive.

Merrill had picked out a drab-coloured day dress for the day, reasoning that she had no one she needed to look impressive for at the Hawke Estate (it was hardly likely that men like Mr Pol would be there, for instance); but now, even though the Hawke women were sat at the table in their own morning gowns, she started to regret that she had not picked out a better item of clothing – especially with the way the smartly-dressed Sir Carver glanced at her, blue eyes flicking up and down as if he was unconscious of it; Merrill tried to console herself with the idea that he was less likely to express his disapproval of her dress with his sisters there, though she was less sure of his mother.

Outwardly, however, Merrill smiled, and exclaimed her amazement at all the food in front of her, adding her certainty that Mahariel (who was always so curious about humans and their ways) would be very sorry to miss it.

Miss Bethany laughed. ‘We don’t always eat like this,’ she assured Merrill. ‘Mother instructed the servants to make an extra effort for guests today; chocolate coffee and cakes at the breakfast table are very much treats. Besides, I don’t think my dear brother would allow us to eat like this so much; he believes meat and eggs are a better fit with his exercise schedule.’

‘That reminds me,’ her brother said, ‘Fenris will be calling tomorrow; we scheduled a sparring session.’

‘Mr Fenris is Carver’s fencing-master, and a very fine one at that,’ Miss Hawke explained to Merrill. ‘He is an elf – from Tevinter, I believe – with very gentlemanly manners. I am sure Carver will be pleased to introduce you before they start; we leave them the use of the ballroom for the lesson, though it must be said that Carver insists on also having his own exercise room for when he wants to work out without Fencing-master Fenris.’ She shot her brother an impertinent smile. ‘Nobody is _ever_ allowed in any room that Carver is taking exercise in; the only exception to that rule might be Mr Fenris.’

‘Fenris is the finest fencing-master and swordsman around,’ Sir Carver said, ignoring his sister’s last comment. ‘He trained as a personal guard in Tevinter, and then fought in the army; I believe he fought alongside the Fog Warriors for a while, and I have the highest respect for his skills and experience.’

Merrill almost expressed surprise that _Sir Carver_ of all people was speaking so highly of an elf, given how he had responded to Lady Leandra’s complaint about dancing with her when they had all first met; but fortunately she was interrupted by Miss Bethany:

‘I did not know Mr Fenris was a redcoat. I suppose that explains why you hold him in such high regard, Carver.’

‘What is a redcoat?’ Merrill asked.

‘A colloquial term for a soldier. Named after the red uniforms they wear; or at least, the red uniforms the officers in King Alistair’s army wear. Carver wanted to be one,’ Bethany explained, at Merrill’s questioning look. ‘It was not to be, but I suppose—’ and here Miss Bethany smiled affectionately at her twin, ‘—that never stopped him training and honing his skills.’

Sir Carver, however, did not reply; for, just at that moment, a servant took him to one side to discuss something with him; and although the rest of the table did not hear what was being said – the Hawke women carried on talking about soldiers and the King’s army – Merrill couldn’t help noticing Carver’s stony face when he returned to the table.

‘I remember when I liked a redcoat well enough,’ Lady Leandra smiled in fond remembrance. ‘And I do still, in my heart.’

‘Presumably, Mother,’ Miss Hawke smirked, ‘you don’t mean _Qunari_ redcoats.’

Lady Leandra shuddered again, and Merrill did her best to stifle a smile with her cup of tea.

‘Miss Alerion,’ Sir Carver suddenly began, and Merrill almost jumped at his voice, ‘will you be spending much time with Mrs Sabrae today?’

‘Carver,’ his older sister reproached him, ‘you could speak to our guest a little less sharply, don’t you think?’

To Merrill’s surprise, Sir Carver looked utterly flustered. ‘I did not mean it, Sister,’ he stammered, and flushed; ‘I cannot help what I sound like. Perhaps,’ he continued, as he stood up and shot Miss Hawke an indignant look, ‘that should be my cue to leave the table. I bid you good day, Miss Alerion, and apologise for any alarm I may have caused you.’

He gave her a stiff bow, then turned and swiftly marched out of the room.

‘I apologise for my brother,’ Miss Hawke said to Merrill, while Miss Bethany’s eyes lingered on her brother’s departing figure, her expression a mix of curiosity and a puzzled frown, ‘he does not like being reminded of his wish of becoming a soldier; it puts him in such a sour mood.’

‘I suppose I should go to him,’ her mother said, although Merrill couldn’t help thinking it sounded like an excuse for Her Ladyship to leave. ‘I need to speak to the servants anyway; I can speak to Carver afterwards.’

‘I should never have brought it up,’ Merrill lamented, as Lady Leandra left the room. ‘If I had never asked what a redcoat was, we would never have had to discuss it.’

‘Merrill, please do not worry about it,’ Miss Hawke said. ‘It is not your fault; you were not to know that his not having a career in the army is a sore spot.’

‘No,’ Miss Bethany finally said, turning back to face them all, looking perplexed, ‘I do not think it is over _that_ this time – there is something else on his mind. But if Carver will not answer for what is troubling him, there is very little we can do.’

‘Oh,’ Miss Hawke said; clearly this was an unexpected development. ‘Well. I shall ask him later if he is alright, and I probably should apologise. And I’m sorry, too, Merrill, for interrupting you.’

‘It is no trouble at all,’ Merrill answered, feeling similarly confused by everything that had just passed. ‘Perhaps it was something I unwittingly said or did; perhaps _I_ should be the one offering my apologies. The Keeper – I mean, Keeper Marethari – always said I should take more care with what I say sometimes.’

‘So, the Keeper,’ Bethany enquired, ‘is not your mother?’

‘I haven’t seen my parents in more than ten years,’ Merrill said. ‘When they died, Marethari – my mother’s sister – took me in, and became my Keeper. Humans might refer to her as my guardian, I think? But I lost my parents when I was a child.’

Bethany looked sympathetic; her sister seemed similarly affected. ‘I’m so sorry! My father died over a year ago. You must really miss them.’

‘I remember my mother singing to me, when I was a little girl and I’d get sick,’ Merrill recalled. ‘I think that’s what I miss the most.’ She smiled weakly. ‘The Keeper has a terrible singing voice.’

The Hawke sisters laughed sympathetically at Merrill’s attempt at a joke; and the rest of breakfast passed in conversation until it was time for the servants to clear away the table.


	18. Chapter 18

The reason for Sir Carver’s dour mood soon became apparent: the de Launcet sisters were coming to call. Lady Leandra found out when she caught up with her son that he was deeply unhappy that his mother had known and not mentioned it, whereas _he_ had only just found out when their servant had told him.

‘Well, I think it very kind of them,’ his mother had told him, somewhat defensively. ‘I see no harm in allowing them to come, providing they gave us some notice of their arrival. I gather they are keen to visit out of concern for the patient.’

‘Mother, you astonish me. I’m not aware that the de Launcet girls have ever showed concern for _anybody_.’

‘Well, I daresay you might be mistaken, Carver.’

‘I daresay I am not. I know those girls better than you do; and unlike you, I don’t see why we’re still so accommodating of that family either. You think my sisters didn’t tell me how rude they were to Miss Alerion and Mrs Sabrae at dinner last night? The idea that those posturing, snobby Orlesians care even one penny about our elven guests is ridiculous, and you know it.’

‘I think it would do all of you good,’ Lady Leandra countered, ‘to mix more with high society – even if that includes the de Launcet family. You are now five-and-twenty; you will want to think of taking a wife at some point; and I see nothing wrong with you mingling with as much eligible upper-class female company as possible until you get married.’

‘I know that, Mother,’ Carver said, folding his arms. ‘But I’m not interested in anyone right now and I’m _not_ seeking to marry; I still have time before I must court anybody, and – _wait_.’ He paused as the realisation dawned on him. ‘You’ve been telling _all of Hightown_ that I’m looking for a wife, haven’t you?’  

His mother had the good grace to look embarrassed.

‘It is your responsibility to this family to do so,’ she finally told him, just before she walked away to greet the arrival of the de Launcets, ‘and to beget a son in wedlock to inherit this estate. You would have been looking to marry _eventually_ , so it was hardly a lie. How pleased I am that your dalliances with Peaches and Faith are in the past – as if those two girls weren’t fast enough, I even heard a rumour that Faith had come upon the town; most disreputable! – but you know you cannot put your duty off to yourself, your family, or even your family _name_ , forever.’

‘Our _family name_ ,’ Carver muttered under his breath as she left. ‘If Father had not been given a title – if Father had not been personally conferred a baronet by the King – you never would have cared about our _name_. You would not have cared what _I_ did – or who I married, or _if_ I married – and even when Father set about reclaiming the Amell Estate for you, to what end did he work so hard for? To reclaim an old name for an old woman; so that the once-mighty Amells could sit around talking about how great we _used_ to be!’

The dispiriting thing about it all, Carver thought as he walked slowly to the vestibule, where Lady Leandra was now greeting their new guests, was that his mother had a point: in _this_ society, a young man was expected to marry for money or connections, make sure his heir was his, then find passion (or even _love_ ) with a series of mistresses rather than his wife. Discretion was, of course, expected – but even so, most of society turned a blind eye to these foibles for gentlemen, although less so for ladies.

The problem was that Carver found the whole idea rather soulless, not to mention unfair on the part of the lady. The trouble with having two spirited and independent women for sisters, and caring for them so deeply, was seeing life from the female point of view occasionally – and if Carver were honest, he did not like what he saw. The idea that any man would marry Bethany – or even _Marian_ – merely for their money or connections, and then break their hearts by pursuing relations with a parade of other women, while his sisters were left at home with their hurt and humiliation and the children of a loveless marriage, was outrageously repulsive to him; and consequently the idea that he was expected to do the same lost all appeal. Carver wanted what his parents had, and did not understand why Lady Leandra was so insistent that upper-class society’s way – the path that she herself did not follow – was the best way.

‘If I loved your mother less,’ Sir Malcolm had been fond of saying to his children, ‘I would not love the three of you so much. Never would I want to be a man who does not hold his own offspring in any regard; but it is easier, I believe, when a man loves and esteems the one who bore them for him.’

Whether this was true of all men or only of Malcolm Hawke, Carver did not know – but now that he was older and wiser, his father’s example was something he admired and aspired to. Despite his mother’s hopes and expectations for him, he wistfully yet fervently coveted the same happy situation for himself.

But such a sentiment was crudely interrupted by the fawning attentions of the de Launcet sisters when they spotted him; and at Mother’s pointed look, Carver rolled his eyes and obediently offered them his attention. The girls were attired in what they excitedly told him were some of their nicest dresses – and yet Miss Babette was wearing two shades of blue that did not complement each other, while Miss Fifi was wearing puce trimmed with acid green.

Carver sighed to himself. Evidently, aristocratic money could not buy taste.

After exchanging as civil a greeting as he could muster, he led both girls into the drawing room where his sisters were now sitting with Miss Alerion. His sisters and their elven friend greeted them, perhaps even with some surprise; for the Hawke siblings had not expected the de Launcet girls – or indeed anyone at all – to call upon them today, but nonetheless they maintained the same politeness even in the face of the Orlesian womens’ false smiles and pleasantries.

It was only when the de Launcet sisters expressed their particular desire to call upon and acquaint themselves with Miss Alerion over the Misses Hawke, however, that Carver started to wonder _what_ exactly it was that had concerned both girls enough to visit them all.   
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Couple of notes on the chapter: 
> 
> 1) The reference to Faith "coming on the town": to come on the town was a politely understated Regency English way of saying to become a prostitute. It's what the "spiteful old ladies of Meryton" hope will happen to Lydia Bennet in the novel of _Pride & Prejudice_ when she runs off with Mr Wickham, and was sadly a very common fate for women in the Regency era, either because they'd done a Lydia Bennet and lost their reputations over it, or because they'd fallen on hard times (like, say, widowhood) and had no other male relative to support them - because sadly men ruled everything back then, including most women's livelihood. (Faith, if you don't remember, is the Blooming Rose worker that Carver accidentally hints he might have visited during Act 1 party banter with Isabela.) 
> 
> 2) Fifi and Babette de Launcet’s dress descriptions are based on what they’re wearing in DA2’s “Mark of the Assassin” DLC, when you (as Hawke) bump into them at Chateau Haine with their mother Dulci. I am not sure what BioWare were thinking, but the dress colour combinations were as awful as I described XD 
> 
> 3) A couple of sentences in this chapter were adapted from the blog post in this link - <https://susanaellisauthor.wordpress.com/2014/04/14/a-regency-gentleman-his-upbringing/> \- specifically this quote:  
> " _And then there were their “bits of muslin” or wenches. A young man was expected to marry for money or connections, make sure his heir was his, and then proceed to find passion with a series of mistresses. While discretion was expected, most of society turned a blind eye to these foibles, at least on the part of gentlemen. Ladies’ behavior was much more closely scrutinized._ " 
> 
> I just really liked the wording in that paragraph, so I thought I’d adapt and credit it ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯


	19. Chapter 19

Until the de Launcets arrived, Merrill had been having a most riveting morning. The Hawke sisters removed to the drawing room after breakfast, and invited her to continue their conversation awhile before she returned to Mahariel, and Merrill was only too happy to oblige. The servant Bodahn joined them, bearing a message.

‘Are you aware, Miss Hawke,’ he began, somewhat tentatively, ‘that the Comte de Launcet’s daughters expressed a wish of calling today?’

‘Babette and Fifi?’ Miss Hawke seemed halfway between astonishment and outright horror; her younger sister appeared the same. ‘But why?’

‘I cannot answer for that, but I overheard the master and mistress of the house in heated discussion just now; so I took it upon myself to ensure that you and Miss Bethany were not similarly taken by surprise. Forgive me, Miss Hawke, if I have taken a liberty in doing so.’

‘Not at all, Bodahn. I – we – appreciate it. Thank you.’

The dwarf bowed deeply, and left.

‘What can be the meaning of this?’ Miss Bethany demanded. ‘Why are Babette and Fifi coming to call, and why should Mother conceal this from us?’

‘I would venture a guess that Babette and Fifi should be coming to call on our brother,’ her sister replied, ‘but it is curious that he did not know it. Well, I am sure I shall not sit with them too long for anything! – Surely none of us need stay in the company of Babette and Fifi longer than polite society dictates that we should.’

Miss Bethany sighed. ‘It would indeed be far more preferable to leave the de Launcets alone to flirt with Carver to their hearts’ content.’

‘I don’t get it,’ Merrill said. ‘Pardon my impertinence, but – if you do not want the de Launcet girls here, why are they so keen to visit? I would never want to call where I am not wanted; and I thought that even among humans, frequent visitors would be those who were particular friends of the household.’

‘You are not wrong there,’ Miss Hawke told her, ‘and it is not impertinent of you at all – it is most vexing to ourselves as well why the de Launcet girls should call, or come over so often of late.’ A thought seemed to have struck her, and Miss Hawke turned to her sister with wide, anxious eyes. ‘Oh, Maker, no – Carver is not _courting_ _one of them_ , is he?’

Her sister looked similarly aghast. ‘Maker! I should hope not! I would be surprised if he is, as he certainly has not indicated anything of the sort to me – but Carver has been so reticent of late, that it has been hard sometimes even for _me_ to know what he is truly feeling.’

Miss Hawke made a face. ‘If that is what our dear brother is about, then perhaps we should watch him when they’re around – and consider whether we should talk him out of it before any such engagement is announced. But _Maker’s_ _breath_ , Bethany! Surely Carver is not so desperate, or so out of options, to consider the _de Launcets?_ ’

‘I feel the same way as you do, Sister; but with Carver it could _definitely_ be worse. Mother was so pleased when his dalliance with Faith had ended. And you remember when we were living in Lothering, I do not know if you knew that Carver was considering proposing to Peaches, before she unexpectedly eloped to Denerim with the wealthy Mr Garrett? The last we heard was that she was living with her aunt there; I do not know what became of the marriage.’

‘Ah yes, Carver’s rebellious period,’ Miss Hawke recalled, with a chuckle, ‘back when his dearest wish was to become a soldier and forge his own path in life – our brother had never been comfortable to just be the heir to Father’s title and wealth – he said he did not want to become what he called “one of those idle nobles”. It is probably for the best that Mother doesn’t know Carver was about to ask Peaches for her hand in matrimony – but, Mother never seemed to have any trouble with our connection with that family before Father became a baronet.’

Merrill looked at her friend curiously. ‘Was your father not always a baronet?’

‘Not at all,’ Miss Bethany answered, with a small smile. ‘We were not always nobility – or even landed gentry, actually. Which would be why we had some trouble fitting in with Hightown when we first moved here. You look surprised, Merrill – I take it that you did not know.’

‘I did not,’ Merrill confessed. ‘I had always assumed that _I_ was the only one who had come from a lower social class before being raised in the gentry – I grew up in an alienage before I was orphaned and adopted by the Sabraes – but I had no idea that you might have a similar story…?’  

‘In some respects, yes: Mother was born into the aristocracy, even if Father was not,’ explained Bethany. ‘Our maternal grandfather was Lord Aristide Amell, an earl of much social standing; but the Amells had several mishaps that diminished much of their wealth. It was up to Mother to marry money to restore some dignity to the family and the title, and marry someone of a similar social standing as well – so our grandparents arranged for her to marry the Comte de Launcet after his parents agreed.’

‘The _Comte de Launcet_?’ Merrill exclaimed. ‘The father of Babette and Fifi?’

‘The very same. He is a rich nobleman from Orlais of equivalent social standing to her father, so it was deemed a highly eligible match for both.’

‘By the Creators!’ Merrill interjected, eyes round. ‘What happened?’

‘Well,’ Miss Hawke shrugged, ‘Mother scandalised both her family and all of Hightown by forsaking her betrothal and running off with a _commoner_. Our father.’

‘ _Elgar’nan_ ,’ Merrill breathed, awed; she had not thought a woman as prim and proper as Lady Leandra could _ever_ have been capable of such a shocking act of defiance. ‘The nobles of Hightown must have been outraged.’

‘I believe they were. Father had acquired much of his wealth through trade, but this mattered not to the Hightown set: Malcolm Hawke was a commoner, a tradesman with no title or social standing who was far too lowly for the daughter of one of the most respected earls in Kirkwall – and to add insult to injury, there were rumours that our mother was with child when she broke off her engagement to the Comte and eloped to Ferelden with Father.’

‘It was all so romantic, the way Father told it,’ sighed Miss Bethany. ‘They both gave up their entire lives, and everything they knew, for _love_ – to be together! Do not you think so, Merrill? – how wonderful would it be for someone who loves you so much they would happily forsake their status or connections and society’s expectations, just to be with you?’

Until this, Merrill had intended to listen mostly in fascinated silence; her own mother, she had been told, had gone against all expectations to marry Merrill’s father, against the wise counsel of everybody else. However, life had not turned out so well for her own parents before they passed, and the idea that it might turn out for the better – like it seemed to have done for the Hawkes – was a new one. ‘I – I would not know,’ Merrill admitted. ‘I must confess I had never considered it that way before. Whether human or elven, it seems that to deviate from the life laid out before you, and seek a new path, is one that everyone tells us will only ever end in misery.’

‘It is certainly true that Mother and Father loved each other to the last,’ Miss Hawke observed, ‘but Bethany, you know it was not without pain: she was made an outcast from all her Hightown friends, whom she had known since childhood; and their snobbery and ostracism took her very much by surprise, and hurt her deeply. It was even said that the shock of her elopement killed Lord Aristide and Lady Amell, and then her brother gambled away the last of the Amell family fortune – including this very estate.’ Miss Hawke smiled sadly. ‘It takes either a brave person or a foolish one to follow a different path, Merrill, but sometimes – sometimes I wonder what other choices do we have.’

Merrill knew not what to say to that, especially with the way Miss Bethany sympathetically took her sister’s hand in hers, brown eyes warm with so much tender understanding she felt as if she was intruding on something private. ‘I am sorry,’ she said. ‘We can leave the subject, if you wish.’

Miss Hawke appeared to collect herself, and gave her a much more encouraging smile. ‘It is perfectly fine – I was simply reminded of… something else, that is all. You wanted to know about our father not always being a baronet; and it was a perfectly reasonable question, given that we brought the subject up ourselves – not to mention that a commoner being granted a title and elevated to the aristocracy is as surprising as it is rare.’

‘I do not mind continuing,’ Bethany suggested, squeezing her sister’s hand, ‘if Merrill really wants to hear it.’

‘Of course I do! But only if you are happy to tell me.’  

‘We grew up in Ferelden,’ Bethany said, ‘away from Hightown and Mother’s old life. We moved a lot while we were growing up, and Mother was quite a slave to our education when we were children. But Father was successful; he eventually earned enough through trade to purchase an estate of his own – the family seat at Lothering, where we spent most of our lives. Before Father retired from life as a working man, he performed some service for the Grey Wardens…’

‘The Grey Wardens?’ Merrill asked, ‘are they not the King’s elite soldiers division?’

‘They are indeed. The Grey Wardens and the King were so impressed by Father, that the King personally conferred a baronetcy on Father.’

‘Mother was overjoyed,’ Miss Hawke added. ‘Even if Father’s new noble title was inferior to her own, she believed she could _finally_ hold her head up high among her former friends in Hightown again, now that she was officially Lady Hawke, the wife of a baronet.’

‘Oh, Mother was so proud of Father,’ agreed Bethany, ‘and the extra wealth and standing the baronetcy brought us meant our adolescence could be more like her own. Marian and I acquired a governess; while Carver, who had started training to be a soldier, was withdrawn from the militia now that he was Father’s heir, and sent away to be educated at boarding school like most sons of the landed gentry.’ Bethany smiled in remembrance. ‘Carver _hated_ it. One of his many acts of rebellion was to take up bare-knuckle boxing at nineteen, and our parents feared he would turn out very wild; and when Uncle Gamlen was about to lose this estate to his debts, Mother decided she wanted to reunite with her old Hightown friends – so Father purchased this estate, and we moved here, to Kirkwall, where Mother hoped that being in Hightown would introduce us to better society than what we had known in Ferelden.’

‘ _Better_ society,’ Miss Hawke quoted, in a mocking tone. ‘Present company excluded – and Captain Isabela also – I will leave it to yourself, Merrill, to determine if the society here truly _is_ better. Your answer need not leave this room; mine certainly shall not.’

Merrill smiled. ‘I do not know what it must be like for you, but for me – Hightown is such a strange place; it feels like it’s miles away from everywhere else. The alienage, Sundermount, Ferelden… those could be from a dream.’

Bethany looked as if she were about to comment; but then the de Launcet girls walked in, with Sir Carver behind them looking grave and forbidding; and the three women were forced to acknowledge and greet their new guests, putting their conversation to an end.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In this chapter, Fifi de Launcet refers to Saemus Dumar as "being rumoured to frequent molly-houses". A molly-house, in 18th and 19th century England, was "a tavern, public house (or pub), coffeehouse or even private rooms where men could either socialise or meet possible sexual partners." Basically, it was a Regency-era gay bar.

After the requisite greetings were made, the ladies sat down, and Carver stalked over to the window. Tea was served promptly by Bodahn’s son, Sandal; and the Hawkes and Merrill listened wordlessly while the de Launcet ladies filled them in on the trifling events of their morning, until Miss Hawke interrupted them with:

‘I thank you, Miss Babette and Miss Fifi, for calling on us in this way, but we must confess ourselves surprised at your arrival. We were not expecting guests today; Mrs Sabrae will be in her room for the next few days, and we anticipated that we might be needed in her recovery – although Merrill is at her disposal, we had planned for the same.’

‘Oh! we came out of concern for the patient, of course!’ tittered Miss Babette, her manner so false that no one could fail to perceive it. ‘For we are so sorry Mrs Sabrae was injured in such a way! And by those huge, awful Qunari, too!’

Miss Hawke looked as if _she_ were about to express her surprise that the girls were concerned about Mahariel, having showed none for her ever before; but Miss Bethany cut in to turn the conversation before her sister could speak again.

‘You are both dressed rather fine today, I daresay,’ declared she, ‘and those certainly are… interesting… dresses. Are they new?’

‘Oh! yes indeed they are. Mama thought we should wait until the next ball to give them an outing; but we thought we might as well wear them here as not – we can always afford to purchase new finery for the next ball. Do you like them? – we were rather hoping _some_ men might appreciate them, if no one else!’

As the phrase ‘ _some_ men’ was spoken, both de Launcet girls’ eyes turned laughingly to Sir Carver; and soon everyone looked at him curiously to see how he reacted, or if he appreciated their new dresses. Carver made no reply, but carried on staring out of the window as if he did not hear.

After a while he said: ‘Wait a moment. Is that… is that _Varric_ walking up the garden path? I did not know we were expecting him today.’

‘Mr Tethras?’ his twin echoed, evidently as astonished as he. ‘No, I am not aware he was due to call today. I wonder why he is here.’

‘Perhaps we should attend to him. See what he wants.’

‘I suppose we must,’ Miss Bethany agreed. ‘Babette, Fifi, I really must apologise, but we ought to greet the Master of Ceremonies, for he will soon be arriving at the door.’

‘Let us go,’ Miss Hawke said, rising already; Merrill could even hear the gratitude and relief in her voice. ‘I am sure it must be urgent if he is calling on us in this way, especially so soon after last night’s dinner party.’

Miss Babette looked disappointed as all three Hawke siblings looked to take their leave. ‘Must you all go? Surely there is no occasion for _all_ of you to greet him?’

‘Surely you have a servant you can send,’ her sister said. ‘There is no occasion for you to answer the door; the servant can take Mr Tethras’s calling-card in.’

‘No, I’m afraid we really must answer this one in person,’ Miss Hawke insisted, with one foot out the door already. ‘Please do not fret! We shall not be gone long!’

‘Then if it is not too forward of me,’ Miss Fifi interjected, ‘I think Miss Merrill must stay with us while you are temporarily away to welcome your new visitor. Babette and I were particularly hoping to know her better today, and we would be sorry to lose the opportunity to become more intimate.’

Carver raised an eyebrow, but said nothing. The curiosity was evident on his face, and by the look of his sisters, they were just as surprised as he. None, however, were more surprised than Merrill herself.

‘I – I was about to go and check on Mahariel, actually,’ Merrill began, but Fifi waved away her excuse.

‘Oh! we did not intend to detain you long. Please allow us the pleasure of speaking to you awhile, Miss Merrill, and we would be delighted for you to convey our best wishes to Mrs Sabrae once we are done!’

Again Merrill protested that she did not wish to intrude upon their visit, for surely they wanted to see their friends, and she had no wish of being in their way – and again Babette and Fifi insisted she stay, and allow them to acquaint themselves with her better while the Hawkes attended to their surprise visitor. There was nothing for it: it was therefore only polite that Merrill indulge them.

‘I am sorry to leave you alone in unfamiliar company, Merrill,’ Miss Bethany said, an apologetic look on her face, ‘but I promise we shall not be away long.’ To Babette and Fifi, she added: ‘I trust that both of you will look after Merrill sufficiently well until our return.’

‘We will back as soon as we can,’ Miss Hawke called from the doorway. ‘Make sure you do not get up too anything _too_ dramatic in our absence!’

The de Launcets tittered in reply; but Merrill drew the impression they were not especially upset to lose the Hawke sisters’ company. Miss Hawke had cast Merrill a regretful, sympathetic look as she and her siblings made their exit; and the moment they had left the room, the de Launcet sisters turned back to Merrill, and Babette began:

‘Oh! Miss Merrill, our Mama was quite interested in you – she has wondered so much about you since your coming-out! – and we are most desirous of making your acquaintance, and satisfying our curiosity as well as hers. I would not be surprised if all of Hightown inquired about you, after your dance with Sir Carver! I apologise that my sister Fifi and I made some effort with our attire today for his eye; but rest assured, we do not think the worse of _you_ for being simply dressed.’

This was already a poor start, thought Merrill; after their rudeness at last night’s dinner party, she had not wanted to interact with them more than she was forced to – and here they were, making her feel inferior over her outfit before they had even started a proper conversation. Her cheeks burned; but she attempted to compose herself before she answered, for she did not want to start an altercation in her new friends’ home on the very first day of her stay.

‘I suppose I did not have anybody here that I was seeking to impress today,’ she responded, with a polite smile that belied the barb she had been trying to make; but Babette gasped, and Fifi sneered:

‘ _Really_! and pray tell, Miss Merrill, how can you play so coy? You are staying in the house of one of the most eligible batchelors in all of _Kirkwall_ , let alone Hightown! I refuse to believe any young single woman – human _or_ elf – would be ignorant of the opportunity inherent in such a situation, and surely you cannot.’

Merrill considered her next words carefully. Whatever she said risked the de Launcet girls laughing at her stupidity, she knew; and she didn’t want to make it worse than it already would be. ‘ _You_ see it as an opportunity, undoubtedly.’

‘But of course it is. A single young man of large fortune in want of a wife? Allowing an unmarried girl like yourself to stay in his household for some days, even if by circumstance, rather than design? Many women would envy the situation you are currently in, Miss Merrill.’

‘If I didn’t know better, I would have thought you were speaking about yourself.’

The sisters laughed, and Fifi cried: ‘How impertinent you elves are sometimes! I will overlook it for now, Miss Merrill, but you make a fine point: there are many women, especially in Hightown, who are hoping Sir Carver will lead them down the aisle before long; but there are few women who – we believe – _truly_ stand a chance with him.’

‘Oh,’ was all Merrill could say. She was unsure why either of them were discussing such a topic in front of _her_ , of all people; but… perhaps it meant the Hawkes’ earlier apprehension about the prospect of their brother’s engagement had more to it than anybody thought? ‘So… which of you am I to offer my congratulations to, then?’

This seemed to throw both de Launcets; they looked so taken aback that Merrill realised her answer was not the one they had expected.  

‘Well,’ she pressed, with growing impatience, ‘Sir Carver cannot marry _both_ of you, can he? Or is there a human thing I’m missing?’

‘There is not a “human thing” you are missing,’ Babette replied, recovering herself. ‘You are correct: he can only marry one of us, but it does not really matter which of us he chooses. There are, thankfully, still other eligible _beaux_ in Kirkwall if one of us manages to secure him.’

‘Quite,’ Fifi agreed. ‘There is Viscount Dumar and his son, for example, even if the viscount is an elderly widower and his son is rumoured to frequent molly-houses; so even if we _both_ desire Sir Carver, as long as he marries either of us, then I suppose all is not entirely lost in our eyes.’  

How very odd, thought Merrill; she knew both sisters were vying for his affections, but was surprised to learn the rivalry and disappointments would – supposedly – not matter. ‘If a man I hoped to marry wed someone else instead of me, I would be _devastated_ ,’ Merrill exclaimed. ‘Is it different for humans, then?’

‘Well,’ Babette began, ‘I do not know what elven marriages are like – but for human nobility, like ourselves, what one wants – or _who_ one wants – is unimportant. It is _essential_ to marry for connections; for social and material advantage.’

‘Of course,’ smirked her sister, ‘he _is_ a dog-lord, I suppose; but even with _that_ the financial advantage cannot and should not be overlooked.’

‘Oh! well, neither of us would consider dog-lords under _normal_ circumstances, we must admit – but he is handsome, and has considerable patronage in the Chantry; so perhaps one can overlook such a thing, and…’

‘I’m _so_ sorry,’ Merrill interrupted, ‘but what is a “dog lord”?’

‘Someone from Ferelden,’ Babette answered. ‘He does seem to take pride in his Fereldan heritage, though Maker only knows why – but perhaps marriage to an appropriate female can cure him of such a fault. Either way, it is of trifling importance; he is wealthy and powerful enough to make a most fortunate match for anyone; and he has the added bonus of being tall, good-looking and well built…’

‘ _Some_ parts of him seem more well-built than others,’ Fifi interrupted, waggling her eyebrows, and the two sisters lost themselves in a fit of giggles.

Merrill had a feeling she had just missed something dirty, but was afraid to ask; the de Launcets were baffling her enough. ‘Surely those cannot be the only criteria to select a marriage partner,’ she began, almost to herself. ‘What about marrying someone of good character?’

Babette looked utterly mystified. ‘What in Thedas do you mean?’

‘I admit I do not know him as well as you do, but is Sir Carver not a man of good character? For I am sure,’ said Merrill, ‘that I have heard some people remark on his ill manners.’

‘The very rich can afford to give offence wherever they go,’ Miss Fifi told Merrill, with a smile that did not reach her eyes. ‘ _You_ need not care for his good opinion.’

‘But surely _you_ should at least have some respect – and even affection – for your chosen spouse.’

‘Why should it be necessary? Lovers can be discreetly taken, if the marriage becomes truly bad; as long as an heir is secured, love can be found elsewhere.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said. ‘Well. I must admit, that sounds very sad to me.’

‘So tell us, Miss Merrill,’ Babette said, and Merrill tried to ignore the way the woman seemed to be looking down her nose at her, ‘how are elven marriages arranged? I take it you are not expected to make as desirable a match as we are?’

‘Oh, we are expected to make a desirable match, if we can,’ Merrill replied, thinking of Pol, ‘but Dalish marriages tend to value love more than human ones seem to.’

This was met with much scoffing from the de Launcet girls; Merrill had expected it, but it still irritated her. ‘Oh, how _quaint_!’ Miss Fifi cried, ‘if only _I_ should be so innocent and naïve! To marry for _love_ , with no consideration given to wealth or standing! Or even to one’s _own_ standing! But Miss Merrill, as a friend, let me caution you not to give credit to such a notion. In today’s society, pursuing solely affection should only lead to your ruin.’

‘But marrying solely for money or connections makes no sense either,’ Merrill argued, as sweetly as she could. ‘You are _already_ wealthy; you have choices that many other women do not. Why would you marry someone you don’t even _like_ , just because they have more money than you – when instead you could marry someone you _love_ , who loves you, who can also afford to take good care of you; and start a life and a family with them? I just don’t get it.’

If Merrill had been hoping the conversation would end, she was sadly mistaken. The de Launcet sisters continued to reiterate (in a manner that indicated how stupid they thought her) why Sir Carver was so desirable, in such crass terms about his person and his money – dwelling with a _particular_ fondness on his money – that Merrill started to wish the man himself would return, and put her out of her misery. Unfortunately, the de Launcets showed no signs of ceasing to crow over their certainty that they would snare a proposal from him – according to them, now was the perfect time for a lady to signal him that she desired a courtship; for apparently, Sir Carver was looking for a wife to produce an heir. After all, _someone_ had to inherit the Hawke Estate and the family wealth.

The thought of having Sir Carver’s babies made Merrill blush for some reason she could not work out. She determined it could only be caused by the embarrassment she felt for her Orlesian companions – well-bred ladies were supposedly not meant to indulge in such crude and forthright conversation, especially with someone they barely knew; but Merrill herself did not want to hear their suggestive, overly personal remarks about a man whose house she was staying in.

In vain she attempted to switch off from the rest of their brazen pronouncements on Sir Carver’s fine figure and finances, lest they notice her reddening at their innuendoes and immodest remarks about the man – and _in his own house_ , too! Human or not, if _these_ were the sort of women he wished to marry, Merrill decided, then he was even less worthy of her estimation than she thought – and frankly, she did not hold him in particularly high estimation in the first place.

Babette and Fifi, however, continued to boast their complacency that _one_ of them would soon become the new Lady Hawke; and Merrill’s thoughts could not help turning to his sisters, and how horrified they would be at such news.


	21. Chapter 21

Mr Tethras did not stay long; his main purpose in visiting his friends the Hawkes – the elder Miss Hawke especially – was partly to acquaint them with news of Captain Isabela’s return to Kirkwall, and partly to enquire if they were well after the shocking events of the previous evening. Having satisfied himself that Mahariel had not been more seriously injured, he had hoped to stay awhile; however, on hearing that the de Launcets had come to visit, he hastily made his excuses and promised to return on the morrow.  

The Hawke siblings, therefore, were forced to return to the drawing room when their dwarven friend had departed, where the de Launcets’ enquiries about the Master of Ceremonies was met with a brief reply. Lady Leandra swept into the room, and made polite enquiries about their health and family. Bethany took her previous seat and picked up her needlework, while Miss Hawke walked over to the bookcase, looking for some reading material to occupy herself. Her brother joined her, but was soon called away by Lady Leandra, who requested that he seat himself next to her and talk to their guests.

Now that Sir Carver was back in the room, the Orlesians turned on the charm, but to very little use: he only spoke when directly questioned, and the de Launcets and his mother occupied most of the discussion about the latest Hightown gossip, while Bethany attempted to include Merrill in the conversation.

Carver decided it was best if he largely remained silent; he could not trust himself to speak to Merrill without revealing some of what he felt, and he was unsure what to say to her in a way that would rouse no suspicions. He recalled his _faux pas_ in speaking to her at breakfast, where his awkward attempt at conversation was mistaken for curtness by his sister – and possibly by Merrill herself, given how she had reacted – and he had felt so embarrassed that the only way he could remedy the situation was to quit the breakfast-parlour entirely, lest he expose himself further. Fortunately, Merrill would not remain in the drawing room long; she expressed her regret that she had kept Mahariel waiting longer than she intended, and Miss Hawke seized on the excuse to quit the room as well, saying that she must also pay a visit to their guest.

‘I am so glad you are showing me the way back to Mahariel’s room,’ Merrill said as they walked, ‘or I know I would never find it; I get lost easily enough as it is. This estate is _huge_! How do you not get lost on a daily basis?’

Miss Hawke laughed. ‘In that case, I am even more glad Duncan guided you to the breakfast-parlour this morning, then. To own the truth, we did get lost a lot at first; but there is much to explore if you are in the mood, and after a while you do get used to where everything is.’

Mahariel was in good humour when they entered her room; Merrill apologised for being so late, but Mahariel had been so engrossed in her book that she had not noticed.

‘I’m afraid your cousin was detained by the de Launcets,’ smirked Miss Hawke, ‘for they paid us an unexpected visit this morning, and my mother has forced Carver to entertain them while I made my escape. I trust that your ankle is not worse? Is there anything you need?’

‘I am very well, thank you,’ Mahariel smiled. ‘The room is comfortable, bright and pleasant, and I have sufficient ways to occupy myself while my ankle heals. I worry about Merrill, though: I am sure she would not want to be cooped up indoors all day, and you have a fine garden here that I believe she would enjoy taking a turn in.’

Merrill gave Mahariel a hug; even when her cousin-in-law was unwell, she still thought of Merrill’s desires and wellbeing, and Merrill was grateful for it. ‘I am sure I shall, before long,’ she said; ‘there are some interesting autumnal plants in bloom, and I would be sorry not to see them before I go! If Miss Hawke is happy for me to take a turn later, then I shall.’

‘Of course we are! I am sorry we had to leave you with the de Launcets earlier, but if allowing you a walk in our garden is all we need to do to make up for it, then we should be happy our punishment is not more severe.’

Both elven women laughed heartily, and Miss Hawke added: ‘In all seriousness, Merrill: please do what you need. You and Mahariel make a refreshing addition to our home, despite the circumstances, and I want you to make yourself at home while you are here.’

‘Be careful what you wish for,’ Merrill warned. ‘Once when I was home at Sundermount and your brother called, I think he was rather shocked to find me in our front garden barefoot. He may not wish me to “make myself at home” as you put it!’

But Miss Hawke just laughed, and repeated her wish that Merrill treat their home as her own, regardless of what that entailed. ‘Oh! I am sure my brother will get over it soon enough; and if it helps drive the de Launcet sisters away,’ she added, ‘it will be utterly worth it. I do not care that they may go back to the Comtesse and gossip to all of Hightown; Mr Tethras heard enough of the nobles grousing about “the commoners moving up” when we first moved into this estate. It’s not as if we haven’t “ruined the neighbourhood” enough by ourselves.’

‘Oh, I’m sure you haven’t ruined the neighbourhood!’ Merrill cried. ‘Well, you wouldn’t ruin _our_ neighbourhood, if you were in it; and the more I hear of Hightown, the more I am confounded by it anyway.’

‘That may well be true, Merrill; but while you stay here, if you _really_ feel a great desire to walk around the house in no shoes and stockings, then all I should say is – please do what you need to feel comfortable.’

‘If it were not for my ankle, I would be tempted to join you,’ Mahariel laughed. ‘For now, however, I shall leave Merrill to decide if she should scare your unwanted guests away with the “barefooted Dalish elf” act when she next joins you.’

‘I would be delighted,’ smirked Miss Hawke. ‘We have been trying to scare them off for years to no avail.’

While Miss Hawke, Merrill and Mahariel engaged themselves in conversation in Mahariel’s room, Lady Leandra called Bethany away and left Carver on his own with the de Launcets; and once the other womenfolk were out of earshot they spoke so abusively of Merrill he found it hard to keep his countenance.

‘Oh! Sir Carver,’ Babette complained, ‘Miss Merrill is so _impertinent_! These upstart elves will do anything, and _say_ anything, to advance themselves; who are they to have so much pride! – and she looked so plain today, in that drab dress of hers!’

‘I agree,’ Fifi chimed in, ‘Miss Merrill was most uncivil to us! – what _audacity_ she had, to argue against our well-meaning advice on getting a husband! – and like you say, dear sister, in such a horrid, drab dress too! And yet I could not help regarding her with pity; elves do not have the figure to fill out our fashions as it is – but you would have thought a woman supposedly of the elven gentry would have made more effort. Do not you think so, sir? – they say you are a man of frankness and honesty; you must have an opinion.’

‘I see nothing wrong in Miss Alerion’s dress,’ Carver replied, sipping his cup of tea, when he could avoid their remarks no more. ‘It is not at all inappropriate. I do not believe she intended to venture out of doors today, and my sisters wanted her to feel at home during her stay.’

‘Oh! naturally,’ her sister simpered, ‘any guests of your sisters _must_ be welcome at this fine estate! Elf or human, dwarf or even _Qunari_ – we would not expect any less hospitality and kindness from a respectable family such as yourselves.’ 

‘You ladies are not staying for dinner, are you?’

‘We can, if you wish,’ Babette giggled. ‘We are both at your disposal, Sir Carver; your wish is our command.’

 _If only that were actually the case_. ‘I’m sure the Comtesse de Launcet expects you back home for dinner,’ Carver said, ‘and I would not want to keep you.’

Now it was Fifi’s turn to giggle. ‘Oh! Sir Carver,’ she said, a sly smile playing around her lips, ‘you can _keep me_ as long as you would like.’

‘ _And_ me!’ her sister added, not wanting to be outdone; while Carver tried his best to conceal his disgust.

‘It is very civil of you to offer, Miss de Launcet, but I do not think we were expecting you for dinner today, and I am not sure there is enough time to instruct the servants.’

‘Oh! well,’ Babette said, undeterred, ‘we shall just have to call upon you again very soon.’

‘I do not think that will be necessary.’

Fifi pouted.

When both girls left, however, they applied to Lady Leandra, who agreed that it would indeed be an honour to receive them again, much to Carver’s consternation. Delighted by this turn of events, the de Launcets left with many smiles and fluttered eyelashes; and Carver was so annoyed that he almost did not take dinner with the rest of his family. If it were not for the prospect of seeing Miss Alerion’s lovely face at the dinner table, he would not have eaten with them at all.  

At five o’clock, the ladies of the house retired to dress, and at half-past six, Merrill was summoned to dinner. Mahariel was still unable to walk, so it was arranged that she would again take the meal in her room.

‘You look very pretty, Merrill,’ Mahariel smiled, observing her young cousin’s white muslin evening dress and shawl, ‘as you should be aware.’

‘I really do not want to leave you,’ Merrill said, wistfully. ‘I would much rather stay here, and take dinner with you. The de Launcets have gone, thankfully; but they exhausted me so greatly that I do not think I have it in me for further conversation, even with people as kind as the Miss Hawkes. And I would rather not subject myself to the critical eye of the brother or the mother; especially after an afternoon of de Launcet disapproval.’

Mahariel assured her that she would be fine; and with that, Merrill reluctantly went down to dinner. The meal took place in a much smaller dining-parlour than the one that had been used for last night’s dinner party, with a rectangular table of a size much more suited for a family meal. Sir Carver sat at the head of the table, while his mother sat at the other end; and Merrill discovered that as a guest, she was to take the seat of honour, on Sir Carver’s right.

Sir Carver said very little throughout the dinner, and nothing to her at all. The little he _did_ say was in response to his sisters; but he appeared to spend much of the meal brooding over something that he would not talk about, despite the Hawke girls’ teasing.

In spite of this, Merrill could not help noticing how frequently she felt his eyes on her. She hardly knew how to suppose that she could be an object of admiration to such a man; and yet that he should observe her because he disliked her, was still more strange. She could only imagine, at last, that she drew his notice because there was something more wrong and reprehensible, according to his ideas of right, than in any other person present. The supposition made her uncomfortable, given where she was seated; but did not pain her. She liked him too little to care for his approbation.

When dinner was over, Lady Leandra requested some music in the drawing-room; and Merrill listened attentively to Miss Bethany’s fine performance on the pianoforte, and a duet between the sisters, before she was able to return to Mahariel for the night.

Day one was finally over. She just had to get through the rest.


	22. Chapter 22

The next morning passed in much the same way as the previous; and once breakfast was over, the ladies sat in the drawing room for a while to occupy themselves. Merrill busied herself in making her own bonnet for the winter. Elves, she explained to a curious Miss Hawke, did not often wear head-dresses because the caps and bonnets of current human fashion did not cater for pointed elf ears; so elves would usually make their own when the season turned in order to protect their ears from the colder weather.  

‘How fascinating,’ Lady Leandra said, in a tone so polite Merrill couldn’t tell whether she was merely being courteous or whether she was truly interested, ‘and how very resourceful. I imagine that the stiffer, more rigid bonnets made of straw that accommodate human’s ears would be difficult for your people to wear.’

‘Yes,’ Merrill agreed. ‘Sometimes we do find a bonnet – even a straw one – that we can purchase and trim to suit our heads; but the bonnets we make ourselves tend to be softer. We make them of silks, or velvet, or cotton; although we trim them with ribbons or lace the same way, and make them up as pretty as we can.’

‘Speaking of hats,’ Miss Hawke said, ‘and please excuse my interruption, Merrill – Mother, were you not going to call on the milliners today, when you visit the Reinhardts?’

‘Yes, you are right,’ Lady Leandra recalled. ‘As a matter of fact, I was about to dress myself to go out. Is there anything you or Bethany need?’

Mother and daughter left the room in conversation, and a short time after, Sir Carver entered it. Bethany looked surprised to see her brother, for she thought that Mr Fenris was due to call soon, and said so.

‘He is not calling for another half-hour,’ her twin replied, ‘so I thought I would come and sit with you awhile. I thought Sister and Mother were here?’

‘Mother has gone upstairs to get ready for her visit to the Reinhardts. I believe Marian may join her for at least part of the outing; I recall her saying she wanted to look at a new hat, and Mother has mentioned going by the milliners.’

‘And you will not join them, Bethany?’

‘If I am needed – and knowing Marian, I might be – then I suppose I shall. Otherwise, I had been hoping to show Merrill round the garden at some point; I know she expressed an interest to Marian yesterday.’

‘Oh! that’s very kind of you,’ Merrill said, ‘and I would love to see the garden! I am sorry that Miss Hawke cannot join us, but I would not wish to interrupt anyone’s plans.’

‘If _you_ do not have any plans I could interrupt,’ Sir Carver said, with a small smile, ‘I would be willing to show you the garden, Miss Alerion, if my sister cannot.’

Merrill cast Bethany an unsure glance, before replying. ‘I thank you, sir, but I’m sure that will not be necessary. I had merely intended to carry on making my winter bonnet; but when your sister is ready, I am sure we shall go out.’

‘We can all go now, if you wish,’ Bethany said. ‘Let me fetch one of the servants to bring our pelisses; then we may all go outside.’

Once Bethany left the room, Carver walked over to where Merrill was sitting, a smirk on his face. ‘We match.’

Merrill had no idea what he was talking about. ‘I’m sorry?’

‘We match,’ he repeated, looking amused. ‘Your dress is the same shade of dark brown as my tailcoat.’

‘Oh,’ Merrill said. If this was an attempt to sneer at her attire, like his de Launcet friends had done, she thought she should disabuse him of the joke at once. ‘Well. You can rest assured it was not deliberate. I did not intend to wear any dress that matched yours.’

‘I know,’ he said, seating himself across the table from her; he picked up the book on the table his sister had been reading, glanced over the front cover, and put it back down again. ‘So… you’re making a bonnet.’

‘Yes. Elves don’t usually wear them, especially as the current fashions do not fit us, since they’re for humans – but it’s nice to make one for winter. Like I was telling Lady Leandra, it keeps our ears warm.’

‘I see,’ Sir Carver said, blue eyes now fixed on her so intently it made Merrill feel agitated, and she tried to calm herself despite his gaze. ‘I would like to see you wear it, when you’re done.’

 _As if_ , Merrill thought to herself; as if she wanted to give Lord Grumpy-face any more opportunities to look down on her! As if she would let him smirk at her over her head-wear, as well as anything else about her he thought inferior! Wasn’t this the man who had declared, _in front of her_ , that she was ‘not handsome enough to tempt him’ into a second dance? And had she not resolved never to let him intimidate her ever again? Merrill felt her indignation rise, like with the abominably rude de Launcets yesterday; but then she remembered Marethari’s observation that it was never a good idea for an elf to upset human nobility – and decided that perhaps being insolent towards her host, at least on this occasion, would not be the best course of action.

‘Oh, I am sure I shall get the opportunity to wear it this winter,’ she eventually settled on saying, ‘although whether _you_ will see me again before I finish making it up, is another matter. You are a busy man, after all.’

‘Not too busy for any friend of my sisters, I hope,’ he said, suddenly examining the book cover in front of him again with great interest, ‘especially not one as dear to them as _you_ might be, Miss Alerion.’

Something in the way he said it caught her attention; but before she could consider it, Miss Bethany returned to the room, and it was time to take a turn in the garden as planned. Once the ladies were dressed in their pelisses, they went outside; Sir Carver politely indicated that the ladies should go in front of him, and left it to Bethany to point out the garden’s various delights as they wandered up the path. He himself said very little; he was afraid that perhaps he had shown a little too much of himself to Miss Alerion in the drawing room earlier, but fortunately his sister didn’t seem to have noticed anything, which surprised him – Bethany had always been the observant one of the family.

He needed to be more on his guard than this, he reproached himself. Even if he had escaped his twin sister’s notice _this_ time, he might not be so lucky in future. Bethany and Marian had seemed surprisingly preoccupied of late on occasion, and he was not sure why; but still – he _must_ be more careful.

Nevertheless, he preferred walking behind both women as they took a turn in the garden; for it gave him leisure to observe the pretty elf girl from behind. Merrill was delighted about everything in the garden: she praised its beauty and upkeep; she stopped to smell whatever flowers she could; she closed her eyes to enjoy the breeze on her face; she observed the late autumn butterflies with excitement. Everything made her curious; and Carver appreciated witnessing her joy.

‘You seem,’ he eventually said, when he could remain silent no more, ‘to be quite the lover of nature, Miss Alerion.’

She looked up at him with laughing eyes, round and green, and Carver had to stop himself breaking out into a smile to match hers – clearly being outdoors was doing her good, and he was not sorry to see it. ‘Yes! We’re so fortunate to be surrounded by nature at Sundermount, which I suppose would be harder in the city – but it is nice to have a little patch of it while you live in Kirkwall, with such a beautiful garden like this. Your gardeners must work very hard to ensure this place is kept so pretty.’

‘I believe they do,’ smiled Bethany, ‘and it is a lovely place to sit in summer. We have far larger grounds at the Lothering estate; acres of land and woods and groves; you would probably like it.’   

‘Oh! I’m sure I would!’ Merrill agreed. ‘But in the city, for this estate, this garden works well.’ She turned back to Carver, and the curiosity was evident in her voice as she asked him: ‘Do you miss it? Ferelden, I mean.’

‘Sometimes.’

‘Blackberries – they don’t seem to grow here. And there were little song birds with black caps on their heads.’

‘I sort of miss the dogs barking, I suppose.’

‘Yes,’ Merrill said, thoughtfully; ‘it’s been mostly humans barking at me here. Not nearly as cute.’

Carver was not sure what to say to that, so he let the conversation drop. The three of them continued around the garden some more, Merrill and Bethany providing most of the conversation, for Carver still would not trust himself to say too much with his sister there. He would not even offer his arm to either lady as they walked, for fear that he would reveal too much. A glance from Merrill at the disengaged arm nearest to her made him wonder if she had noticed – but perhaps he was just imagining it, he told himself; she seemed more interested in the garden than in linking arms with either he or Bethany, so perhaps it was something else about his elbow she was looking at.

Carver was reluctant to leave when it was time to meet Fenris, for there was a part of him that wanted to spend as much time in Miss Merrill’s company as possible, even if he had resolved not to say much with Bethany there. Perhaps it was best, he told himself as he made his excuses to depart; perhaps a good, rigorous exercise session was just what he needed to take his mind of this… this silly infatuation of his that would likely pass as soon as she went back to Sundermount.

Unfortunately for him, his sister had other ideas.

‘Oh! Is Mr Fenris here already?’ Bethany said. ‘I do think it would be a fine idea if Merrill were to meet him before you start fencing.’

Carver shot her a suspicious look. ‘Why? I see no occasion for that.’

‘Carver!’ Bethany reproached him. ‘Anyone would think you do not want Merrill meeting your elven friend; of course there is no harm in introducing them.’

‘And anyone would think you are trying to set Miss Alerion up with Mr Fenris.’

His twin looked startled, and Carver regretted blurting out what was on his mind. ‘I am not trying to do anything,’ Bethany replied, in a tone of bewilderment. ‘I only thought it would be nice if Merrill met him; I know Sister already suggested it over breakfast yesterday.’

‘I am _right here_ , you know,’ Merrill said, yet despite the playful tone of her voice Carver thought he could perceive she might be affronted.

 _Shit_. Why did he have to expose himself in such a way? For surely Bethany’s suspicions would be aroused; and this whole exchange was keeping him longer from his fencing lesson than it should. He grunted. ‘Come on, then. We will introduce Mr Fenris.’


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter comes with [beautiful art](http://rhythm-diary.tumblr.com/post/181084276365/a-gift-for-hollyand-writes-for-being-one-of-the) from the wonderfully talented @rhythm-diary from Tumblr! If you are an F!Hawke/Fenris fan, please do also check out her amazing one-shot fanfics on AO3 as [Aravell](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aravell/pseuds/Aravell). 
> 
> I mean, just LOOK AT IT. How beautiful is it? It illustrates the opening scene of the chapter, and I was so honoured that she wanted to draw it when she saw the teaser I posted. Thank you so much @rhythm-diary for this beautiful, amazing gift!

Mr Fenris was a handsome, well-built elven man, with expressive green eyes – flecked with hazel – under black eyebrows and a shock of white hair. Like Merrill, he was tall for an elf; he was dressed in dark greys so deep they could easily have been black, and his double-breasted tailcoat was buttoned up so high it was impossible to see the collar of his shirt. His unusual coat suited his figure most well, and he bowed to Merrill on being introduced; yet there was something guarded in his manner, and he seemed to eye her with a great deal of distrust.

‘I am pleased to make your acquaintance,’ Fenris said politely, in a voice so unexpectedly deep and smooth that Merrill almost jumped.

‘I’ve heard so much about you!’ Merrill beamed, as she held her hand out for him to kiss in greeting; this he did, quickly and courteously. ‘The Hawke sisters said you were a most gentleman-like man; they highly recommended that I meet you before you start your fencing lesson with Sir Carver. You’ve probably never met a Dalish before, have you?’

‘I wouldn’t know.’

‘I’m sure you’d be able to tell,’ Merrill chattered on, enthusiastically. ‘Dalish aren’t much like the elves in the cities.’

Fenris frowned at her, and Merrill’s heart sank. He seemed almost insulted by her Dalish pride, almost as if he were about to respond that her smug sense of superiority gave her away as being one; and Bethany spoke before he could answer with some cutting remark. Fenris enquired politely after herself and Miss Hawke, whom he said he was sorry to have missed; before Sir Carver coldly deemed it time that they started their fencing lesson in the ballroom as scheduled.

‘Have I said something wrong again?’ Merrill asked Bethany anxiously, after Fenris and Sir Carver had left. ‘Mr Fenris was so prickly with me, and I truly did not mean to upset him.’

‘I do not know,’ Bethany said, ‘but I would advise you not to trouble yourself too much over it, at this stage. Mr Fenris is a good man; but one with a most horrifying past, for which he still bears many scars. From what I understand from my brother and sister, it has led him to be much more wary of new people than he should otherwise be; it may just be _that_ , rather than anything you have said or done. But come; let us return to the garden; I had not finished showing you everything before Mr Fenris arrived – and this way, we certainly shall not interrupt either Mr Fenris or my brother.’

Bethany led the way, and Merrill followed behind her, feeling quite miserable. She had been _so_ looking forward to meeting Mr Fenris; he had sounded most intriguing, and elven gentlemen seemed to be so rare – yet now that she _had_ met him, she was disappointed that he just… did not seem to like her, for some reason. She could not help wondering if Sir Carver had had anything to do with it, for she could think of no other reason why this handsome and highly respected elf would be so disdainful towards her; and the thought of it made her feel even more dejected than she did already.

But taking another turn in the garden seemed to lift her spirits somewhat; even if the brother was aloof and the mother did not want her precious son dancing with elven women, the sisters’ behaviour towards her and Mahariel could not be faulted. The determination of Miss Hawke in particular to consort with her, despite what all of Hightown must think of such an association, could not be overlooked – and Merrill was grateful, for she had never really had friends before even among elves. Bethany’s sunny disposition and gentle manner put her further at ease, and before long, Merrill was able to forget about Sir Carver and his elven companion for the time being.

Meanwhile, Carver was in the ballroom, glad to start his session at last. Merrill’s enthusiasm for meeting his fencing-master had made him a little curt when he had left – even if he had pretended it was merely impatience to get on with his lesson – but Fenris did not seem similarly impressed by her; so, Carver reasoned, it was silly of him to feel the stab of jealousy that he had.

He firmly reminded himself that Miss Alerion could do what she liked; she was not his concern. It was not for _him_ to have any strong feelings about whom she might court – and it was _certainly_ not for him to envy the elven men she might show a preference for.

‘You are distracted,’ Fenris observed, as both men changed out of their stiff formalwear into loose white shirts; Carver frowned at him before replying.

‘What makes you think that?’

‘You have not asked me one word about how my week has been,’ Fenris pointed out. ‘It is most unusual of you.’

Carver sighed. ‘Fine. How has your week been since I saw you last, Fenris?’

‘Most well, thank you,’ Fenris answered, before giving Carver a brief summary of his week. ‘And yours?’

Carver filled his fencing-master in on the events of the Arishok’s dinner party, and the events that led to Merrill and her cousin-in-law staying at the estate. ‘So as you see, Fenris,’ Carver concluded, with a small, humourless smile, ‘I am quite relieved to be having a lesson today. I think some of the stresses of my week need to be fought off.’

‘Then that is what we will do,’ Fenris said, and Carver found himself grateful for the other man’s business-like attitude. ‘Let us take up our swords, and our positions.’

Sparring practice with Fenris, Carver decided, was just what he needed. Fenris was a skilled swordsman who required his full concentration to fight against; he only just parried Fenris in time when the elf lunged forward; Carver returned the thrust only to find Fenris successfully defend again before making his own riposte.

‘A hit,’ Fenris rumbled, as Carver acknowledged the other man’s point scored. ‘You missed a fine counter-attacking opportunity; but overall, that was well-fought. We will go again.’

Both men danced their way around the ballroom, thrusting and parrying, lunging and circling, feinting and countering, engaging and disengaging; each fight was no less intense for the length of time they lasted, for both men had the stamina and strength to duel as long as they required. Before long, they were panting and covered in sweat; their loose white shirts were wet with exertion; and by the end of the exercise, Carver was feeling all the elation that came with vigorous physical activity, and was in rather better spirits than he had been when Fenris had first arrived.

‘A fine job if I say so,’ Carver declared, plastering his sweat-drenched dark hair away from his face, eyes bright. ‘And I do.’

‘Another round, sir?’ Fenris enquired; his brown chest was exposed and glistening through his loose shirt, which was now wet and unbuttoned down to the navel; a testament to how hard they had fought. Carver smirked at him, in sportive mood now that he had had some physical outlet for his repressed emotions, and put his sword down.

‘A change of engagement is required, I think,’ said he, teasingly. ‘I understand you have _some_ boxing skill, Fenris? Let us spar awhile in that, as well.’

‘What are you doing?’ Fenris asked incredulously, as Carver removed his own damp shirt; presently he stood topless before his fencing-master, his own bulging muscles shining with sweat, and laughed at the elf’s astounded face.

‘Ever been to a public boxing match? This is how they do it in the ring,’ Carver grinned, ‘and this was how I used to fight, bare-chested, before I gave it all up.’

Fenris snorted in mirth. ‘I will keep my own shirt on, thank you,’ he retorted. ‘I have no wish to expose myself in such a way, even in front of a man as familiar as yourself.’

Carver laughed again. ‘ _You_ are the one standing there in bare feet and pantaloons!’

‘True. But I do not want to risk your sisters, or Lady Leandra, seeing me in the same state as _you_ currently are.’

‘They won’t – they know not to come in here while we have a lesson. It would be dangerous for them anyway, what with the sword-fighting,’ Carver said, getting himself into a boxing stance and raising his large fists. ‘So come on, Fenris. Challenge accepted?’

‘Challenge accepted,’ Fenris agreed, with a friendly roll of his eyes; he was about to put his own sword away when the door of the ballroom unexpectedly opened.

Too late they noticed it; too late they noticed they had company – and _female_ company, at that – and evidently the girl who had entered the room had been too shocked to speak at first, for Fenris noticed the open door before Carver did, and before their intruder was able to say a word.

‘Oh!’ came Merrill’s voice from the doorway; Carver’s head turned sharply to her, and to his horror, Merrill was indeed standing there, wide-eyed, clutching a bunch of flowers from the garden. ‘I’m so, so _sorry_! I didn’t mean to walk in on you! I—’

‘What is _she_ doing here?’ Fenris demanded, the antagonism in his voice belying his embarrassment. ‘ _I_ had believed the ladies knew not to come in while we were here!’

Merrill seemed transfixed in shock; she stood there, looking confused and perhaps terrified, and Carver felt his own cheeks turning red in shame at being caught in such a state of undress. Fenris was right: if only he had left his shirt on, perhaps it might have preserved some of his own modesty. Of course, even in merely a loose shirt, it still would have been scandalous for a lady to catch him so carelessly dressed – but perhaps he would have been spared the embarrassment of Miss Alerion staring at his bare torso in the wide-eyed way that she had done when she had caught him.

Remembering his manners, he bowed. ‘Miss Alerion,’ he said, trying to keep as neutral a voice as he could with the tumult that was going through his head. ‘I will see you outside.’

She nodded, still evidently in as much shock as he and Fenris, and left the room.  

‘I apologise for that,’ Carver told Fenris, once she had gone; his mind was still reeling, but this awkward situation needed dealing with. ‘Wait here; I will dress myself and find out what happened.’

Carver dressed swiftly, untidily; but once he was as presentable as he could be under the circumstances, he left the room, face burning all the way.


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And after that ending in the previous chapter, we step back in time a little bit and see what happened from Merrill's point of view XD 
> 
> Some notes on the previous chapter, in case anyone needed it: the term "change of engagement" is an actual fencing term, as are all the other terms I used - but Carver is basically making a fencing pun when he tells Fenris that "a change of engagement" is required. Also, I just really liked how similar it was to the fic title, so I had to throw it in ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ 
> 
> Bare-knuckle boxing was absolutely a thing in the Regency era too (according to my research, Regency England was the "peak of British boxing" and is different from the boxing we know today), and while gentlemen were allowed to train privately in the sport, it was considered disreputable and classless for them to actually fight in open public matches. Matches were frowned upon by magistrates and often had to be held out of town and/or in open fields, they were "fought with bare knuckles and bare chests", and of course, ladies weren't allowed to them. (Allegedly some still went in disguise, or came openly if they were not concerned for their reputations - but, apparently, women were allowed to practise the sport in their own homes as exercise even if they weren't allowed to watch the matches.) 
> 
> Also, it's canon in DA2 (and in the DLCs) that Merrill gets lost a lot, even after so many years of living in Kirkwall, and keeps ending up in awkward places or situations (e.g. the Grand Cleric's airing cupboard, a dog-racing track in Darktown, the viscount's bathing room). It was too good an opportunity not to use it XD 
> 
> \-----------

‘These are such pretty flowers!’ Merrill cooed; Sir Carver and Fenris were safely ensconced in the ballroom, about to start their session, and she and Bethany were perusing the garden again. ‘Mahariel would _love_ these.’

‘You can pick them, if you want,’ Bethany smiled. ‘I’m sure none of us would mind if you wanted to take some to Mahariel.’

‘Oh, that would be wonderful!’ Merrill said, clapping her hands in delight. ‘Do you mind if I pick several? – for there some lovely flowers and leaves all over the garden, and I do enjoy flower-arranging; a nice bouquet would cheer Mahariel up no end!’

‘Of course you may,’ Bethany said. ‘In fact, that is a good idea: perhaps we should both pick some, then you can take Mahariel a gift, and I can spruce up the dining-parlour for tonight.’

After Merrill and Bethany had been picking flowers and leaves in the garden awhile, they found they had company. A beaming Miss Hawke entered, accompanied by none other than Captain Isabela in a dashing admiral’s hat.

‘I was not expecting you back so soon,’ Bethany said, all confusion, after all the ladies had exchanged kisses on cheeks with Isabela in greeting. ‘I thought Mother accompanied you to the hat shop?’

‘She did,’ Miss Hawke smiled. ‘And what a coincidence that I should meet Captain Isabela in there, too! – purchasing the very same hat you see her wearing now!’

Bethany laughed. ‘ _Some_ coincidence, I am sure,’ she said, in a tone that indicated she did not think it had been a coincidence at all. ‘And how convenient that Isabela was also able to walk you back from the milliners!’

‘How convenient indeed,’ agreed Captain Isabela, smirking like the cat that got the cream. ‘Hello again, Merrill – I am sorry I missed you the other night, and I heard what happened to your cousin-in-law. You are looking well, though; and I hope she is on the mend?’

‘She is, definitely,’ Merrill smiled. ‘I was just picking some flowers for her. But I’m so happy to see you again, Isabela! I was wondering where you were the other night!’

‘I imagine the dinner party was quite dull without me, Kitten,’ the Captain chuckled. ‘I was detained on some errand… but no matter: I am here now – none of us can stay away from Miss Hawke for long. Many of us have found ourselves quite drawn to her.’

Merrill thought she could discern a faint blush in Miss Hawke’s cheeks at the compliment. ‘ _As if_ that is the case,’ Miss Hawke answered lightly, ‘especially in _yours_. We all know the sea is your first love, Isabela; nobody can compete with that, and they should be foolish to try.’

Isabela merely laughed. ‘What can I say? – I like big boats; I cannot lie.’

The women laughed heartily, and continued their conversation in similar vein; until Bethany expressed a wish of going back indoors – for it was a crisp late autumn day – and Merrill decided it would be a good time to deliver her bouquet of handpicked flowers to Mahariel.

‘Don’t stay away too long, Kitten,’ Isabela said with a wink, ‘I need to hear any news you have, and I would like to meet your cousin if she is amenable to it.’

‘I won’t be long!’ Merrill called cheerfully, as she walked away. ‘I shall ask Mahariel if she is willing to receive visitors when I deliver her these flowers!’

Miss Hawke was so lucky to have such a friend, sighed Merrill in her head, that wanted to be around her so much. She wondered how Miss Hawke had intended to leave the milliners unaccompanied, assuming she had not been planning to go to the Reinhardts with her mother; and thought how fortunate it was that Isabela had chanced upon her – just in time to make sure that Miss Marian Hawke did not go home unchaperoned.  

It took Merrill a while to find her way indoors, for she took a wrong turn in the garden at first; and when she went past some windows where some movement and a flash of steel caught the corner of her eye, she peered in out of curiosity – only to find it was none other than Sir Carver and Mr Fenris, sparring with their swords. Sir Carver might have been the larger man – in both height and breadth – but he moved as gracefully as his elven companion did; and while Merrill knew nothing of sword-fighting they both seemed to possess much skill, and she stood there in awe. But she soon roused herself; she should not peep in this way, and the sooner she found her way into the estate, the better.

Once inside, Merrill walked through some spacious, finely furnished rooms and along the corridor, and she was not sure where she was but proceeded with a confidence that she would soon arrive at Mahariel’s room; this was her second day in the Hawke Estate now, yet nothing seemed to look familiar. After some time, she stopped, and frowned; was this where Mahariel’s room was situated? She was unsure, but decided the best course of action was simply to try all the doors she came across until she found one where Mahariel was within.

The first few doors she tried led to empty rooms; many of them even without beds. Well – this was no good, Merrill thought to herself; how was she to find Mahariel like this? She started to wish she had asked a servant to lead the way, but as she had not expected to be gone long – and as she had not expected to get _this_ lost – she had not thought it necessary.

‘Oh, Merrill,’ she murmured in reproach, ‘how could you get so lost again? Think, Merrill! What does Mahariel’s door look like? Where would Mahariel be?’

She looked all around her, but she still could not remember what the door to Mahariel’s room looked like – she was not good at remembering where things were without trees and plants to guide her; she had got lost repeatedly for a good year after moving to the Sundermount Estate at first – and eventually she came to some large ornate double doors that she frowned and examined. Did Mahariel’s bedchamber door look like this? She was doubtful that it did – but she had tried many doors by now and found them wanting; including ones where she had been _certain_ Mahariel had been behind. Perhaps she was misremembering it; perhaps Mahariel’s room lay behind large double doors after all. Perhaps it was worth a try. She could not be more wrong than she was already…

The doors were heavy, so Merrill decided to push open just one of them, as wide as she could, and slip inside. She was surprised at how little noise it made as it opened, despite her putting most of her weight against it; and she soon found herself in a vast room, brightly lit, with chandeliers glittering above her head and wooden floors beneath her feet – the sort of space that would be ideal for a ballroom – before she noticed that not only was Mahariel not in _this_ room, either; but she was not alone.

Sir Carver and Mr Fenris were in the middle of the ballroom, some way in front of her, in various states of undress; and too late did Merrill remember Miss Hawke’s words at the breakfast table yesterday – _nobody is ever allowed in any room that my brother is taking exercise in_ – and too late did Merrill register fully the gravity of the situation; for both men were flushed and dripping with exertion, while Mr Fenris’s shirt was so wet as to be transparent, loose and unbuttoned and exposing his well-sculpted chest and abdomen, glistening with sweat; and even worse was _Sir Carver_ , utterly shirtless, disrobed of everything except close-fitting buckskin breeches and footwear. Merrill’s eyes widened at how powerfully built her host was – Mr Fenris was certainly good to look at in his soaked white shirt and almost-black pantaloons, being both handsome and fairly brawny for an elf; but Sir Carver, bulky with muscles and sinew, seemed to look even bigger with his clothes _off_ than he did with his clothes _on_ , and how was that even possible? 

Sir Carver was in a boxing pose – and was he actually _laughing_ for once? That was _most_ unusual! – while a smirking Mr Fenris looked as if he was about to take up the challenge… but then the fencing-master noticed her, and the realisation that she had been ogling them both, and that Mr Fenris had _caught her_ , jolted Merrill out of her tongue-tied state. The heat rose in her cheeks, and the full horror of the situation gradually dawned on her; yet try as she might, she found it hard to tear her eyes away.

‘Oh!’ she stammered, trying not to be distracted by the large, bulging outline at the top of Sir Carver’s thighs. ‘I’m so, so _sorry_! I didn’t mean to walk in on you! I—’

‘What is _she_ doing here?’ Mr Fenris demanded, and Merrill’s heart sank at how furious he sounded – this was all her fault, all her fault; and surely there was nothing Merrill could do to repair any fault he might have found in her. ‘ _I_ had believed the ladies knew not to come in while we were here!’

Sir Carver frowned most grievously, and Merrill did not know if the redness in his face was due to his earlier exercise or his anger at her interruption. Instead of shouting at her as she anticipated, he bowed – but only just. ‘Miss Alerion,’ he said, clearly struggling to remain polite, ‘I will see you outside.’

What could Merrill do except obey? This was his house, after all, and she had just broken what was probably one of its cardinal rules; even Miss Hawke and Miss Bethany should be cross with her, to say nothing of their mother. All she could do was nod – the best reaction she could give in such a state of shock – and leave the room, to wait outside and await her fate.

The flowers were still bunched in her hand, but they were hardly important now; she would be ordered home, she was sure of it, and perhaps even Sir Carver would get some harsh criticisms of herself in before he sent her away. The thought made her feel even more miserable than she did already; and it would be all her fault that Mahariel’s convalescing period would be ruined.


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thought I'd post this up before I fly abroad tomorrow morning for New Year celebrations! 
> 
> Thanks to [lucyrne / theungenue](https://archiveofourown.org/users/theungenue/works) for looking over this chapter (as well as Chapter 20 too, sorry I forgot to mention that at the time!) before it went up! I may start posting less frequently after this chapter (something like every 2 weeks rather than every week) due to work commitments next month, but hope to return to our usual weekly schedule as soon as possible! But there WILL definitely be at least one update in January once I've safely returned back to the UK. Happy New Year and hope you all have a great 2019! ❤️xxxx 
> 
> \------

Merrill closed her eyes, breathing as fast as her heartbeat was racing. She had never really seen any man in such a state of undress before, and the sight had been such a shock – and of _all_ men, why did she have to walk in on _these two_? If only she had asked a servant to direct her! – or even asked one of the Hawke sisters to accompany her! Why had she thought she would be able to find her own way by herself when she couldn’t even find her way through Kirkwall if she needed to?

The door opened; Merrill jumped in surprise, and squeaked. Sir Carver emerged, red-faced, untidily attired; but decent enough to face her this time.

‘I’m so sorry!’ Merrill started again, and the words felt inadequate to express how deeply sorry she felt. ‘I really didn’t mean to walk in on you! I didn’t know that was the ballroom, I am so sorry, I cannot believe I’ve been so stupid, I—’

‘Please allow me to interrupt you, Miss Alerion,’ he said. ‘I simply would like to know why you found yourself in the ballroom just now.’

Merrill looked up at him. Sir Carver was looming over her, hard blue eyes boring into her, and he was so close she could feel the heat radiating off his body. She took a deep breath. ‘I got lost.’

‘You… got lost.’

‘Yes. I picked these flowers from your garden—’ she indicated the bouquet in her hand, ‘—with your sisters’ permission, for Mahariel, to cheer her up; and I was merely trying to take them back to her room before I rejoined your sisters and Isabela.’

Sir Carver said nothing, but continued to gaze at her most searchingly, almost as if he were looking for something else from her; and Merrill started to feel annoyed. _Well,_ Merrill thought, _if he thinks he can intimidate me into speaking anything other than the truth, I will not let him. This arrogant shemlen – who does he think he is, trying to intimidate me over a simple mistake? And why could he not keep his clothes on in the first place?_ She straightened herself, and stared at him as defiantly as he was eyeing her, before concluding: ‘And then I ended up here.’

‘Are you aware,’ he finally said, with some effort, ‘that you are quite far from Mrs Sabrae’s room.’

‘Of course I wasn’t,’ she retorted. ‘I told you. I got lost.’

‘This is quite some degree of “lost” you managed, Miss Alerion.’

Was he mocking her? (But no, he couldn’t be, he was looking so serious.) What else did he want? Merrill blew her breath upwards, exasperation starting to outweigh her guilt. ‘I don’t know what else you want me to say,’ she snapped. ‘Try as I might, I could not find Mahariel’s room, and I went into many rooms before I happened upon you and Mr Fenris – to whom I send my most sincere apologies – and I know I shouldn’t have walked in on you, but I did not know that that was the ballroom. Like I said, I was completely lost, and had been lost for a while at that point.’

But Sir Carver continued to stare, and Merrill scowled. Did Lord Grumpy-face _really_ think she would have done such a thing on purpose? ‘If you think I was deliberately trying to walk in on you and Mr Fenris,’ she added, firmly, ‘then you are very much mistaken, sir. I only wanted to take these flowers to my cousin. Your estate is much larger than anything I have ever seen, and I was quite lost.’

Sir Carver sighed, like a man who realised he was not getting any other information out of her. ‘Fine,’ he huffed. ‘Would you like me to take you back to Mrs Sabrae’s room?’

Merrill looked at him in surprise. ‘Thank you, Lord Gr— I mean, that’s very kind of you, Sir Carver.’

He narrowed his eyes briefly when she addressed him as ‘Lord’, but said nothing of it. Merrill was only glad she did not finish her nickname, for that would surely warrant him exiling her from his property without even allowing her time to pack. But… _wait_ … ‘If you are going to send me home, sir,’ she said, as he started to walk and she followed him, ‘I would rather you give me time to bid your sisters goodbye; for I expect this incident will mean I would never see them again, and I would owe them as much apology as yourself.’

He cast her a brief glance of surprise over his shoulder. ‘Why would I send you home? Is your cousin recovered?’

‘No? At least, I do not believe so. But – are you not going to send me home? You must be very angry with me, and you probably want nothing more than for me to be out of your sight.’

He made no answer.

‘I mean,’ Merrill chattered on, ‘it is most generous of you to walk me back to Mahariel’s room; I know how awkward and embarrassing this must be for you – for all of us – but—’ She gulped. ‘I’m babbling again. I’ll stop talking.’

‘I fail to see why I should send you home,’ Sir Carver said, after a pause, though he continued to march ahead of her without so much as a backwards glance. ‘The servants shall be instructed to attend you better – such an embarrassment must not be repeated.’

‘No,’ Merrill agreed. Creators, she thought; as pleasant as both men had been to look at (and she had to admit, even reluctantly, that Sir Carver’s unconcealed form was very fine – even accounting for her antipathy towards the man), she had to agree: such an embarrassment must _not_ be repeated. ‘I am sorry, again. I beg you will please pass on my apologies to Mr Fenris. This must be a dreadful beginning to any acquaintance I might have had with him; and it is understandable if he would not want to interact with me again after this.’

Sir Carver said nothing, but carried on walking; he took such long strides that she had to quicken her pace just to keep up. If this was an attempt to run away from her as politely as he could, thought Merrill, it was understandable; but if _that_ were the case, he should not have volunteered to take her back to Mahariel’s room.

In which case, she thought, his behaviour towards her right now was so insolent that he might have been better not walking her back at all. A servant could have guided her back; he did not have to put himself to so much trouble to perform a service that at present, he seemed very much to dislike – for if he actually _wanted_ her there, he surely would not be so silent.

Eventually they came to the door of Mahariel’s room, which in Merrill’s opinion looked so much like every other door in the estate it was no wonder she had not been able to identify it. When they arrived outside, Sir Carver turned and faced her at last.

‘Mrs Sabrae’s room, as you desired. Anything else?’

He really didn’t have to sound so cold about it, thought Merrill resentfully; if he were so cross with her, it surely would have been better for him to simply send her away. Outwardly, however, she merely said: ‘Thank you, Sir Carver. I believe that is all.’

He bowed; she curtseyed, and she waited for him to depart. But instead of leaving, as she anticipated, he continued to stare at her, almost expectantly, as if there was something he wanted to say but was repressing it; and it perplexed her greatly.

‘Have I said something wrong?’

‘Not at all,’ he answered, before continuing with a slight smile: ‘I… merely wanted to know you would make it safely inside – and not get lost again – from here.’

Merrill glared at him. How _stupid_ did he think her? Did he _really_ think she was incapable of walking through a door that he had just accompanied her to? Surely while she sometimes said the stupidest things (Marethari had certainly made her feel that way often enough), she wasn’t _this_ stupid. And for him to smile so crookedly at her like that! – the very nerve of it!

Merrill decided she would not dignify his apparent mockery of her with a response; and spun on her heel and knocked on the door, calling inside. A favourable answer from Mahariel indicated Sir Carver had indeed led her to the right room, and that her cousin was ready to receive her; and Merrill stepped inside and closed the door in his face, furious and flushing.

Unbeknownst to her, Sir Carver continued to linger outside longer than she could have expected, staring at the closed door in front of him for a while; before slowly turning and walking away.

**Author's Note:**

> Come say hello at [hollyand-writes.tumblr.com](http://hollyand-writes.tumblr.com)


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